


Andraste's Inquisitor

by Duchess_of_Wallace



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, POV Second Person, Slow Burn, Snark, Some Humor, Some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-06-28 10:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15705291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duchess_of_Wallace/pseuds/Duchess_of_Wallace
Summary: Following our Lavellan mage through Haven and the events of the Inquisition to love and heartbreak and combating overwhelming odds.This story will stick somewhat to canon - I’m not above taking liberties here and there to get our favorite people in some more… compromising situations. The canon path of the game is the structure, we’re just coloring outside the lines a bit.Maybe it’s just me, but give my Inquisitor a chance to flirt and she turns into a downrighthussy. Yes, I have my favorites (isn’t Cullen just delectable? And Solas… oh Solas.) but who can resist all the pretty faces? BioWare only allowing one committed relationship at a time is ahorrendousoversight, one we’ll just have to correct here.That means that our Inquisitor will be in committed relationships withmultiple peopleat thesame time, in the open, with everyone involved okay with that fact. If that’s not your cup of tea, it’s really okay, just note that this story may not be for you.It's a slow burn, but there will be love, loss, laughter, and lots of delicious, delicious smut.





	1. Chapter 1: The Breach/The Wrath of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Keeping Secrets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438185) by [ElvenSemi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSemi/pseuds/ElvenSemi). 



> Yes, there will be spoilers, though I’ll definitely note which mission you should be through (usually in the chapter title) if you want to stay ahead and spoiler-free! As of this chapter, no spoilers, not if you’ve at least played through the intro (and if you haven’t, go do it and then come back!)
> 
> Please note: I have never actually written smut before. I’ve never even actually shared fanfiction I’ve written publicly before, so please be kind, but do let me know what you think?  
> This is also an early attempt at second person POV, so apologies ahead of time for tense or verbage errors.
> 
> This was inspired by two fics, both of which you should totally go read. The idea came from VidalsQueen's [Seeker of the Nora](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12869436/chapters/29395281), but the main credit goes to ElvenSemi's [Keeping Secrets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438185/chapters/7536692), whose _incredible_ writing finally convinced me to brave a piece of my own. Seriously, go check them out. You won't be disappointed.
> 
> Obligatory I don’t own them. If I did, I certainly wouldn’t spend my time _writing_ about them!
> 
> Also, I know the intro is very… intro-y. Progressing into Haven will finally get us into the good stuff. Have to eat your veggies first and all that, right?  
> It may take a while (Iron Bull may disagree, but romance _usually_ doesn’t happen overnight) but I _promise_ you can have all the cake and cookies when we get there!

Darkness and pain are the first things you feel, standing and taking note of your surroundings. Everything is… _wrong_ here, wrong like the Fade turned nightmare, wrong like _death_.

Nothing seems broken as you stagger to your feet, looking desperately around for _something_. There - a woman? It’s hard to tell, the bright light surrounding her form harsh against the darkness. She reaches out, beckoning you forward, and you begin to climb the staircase before you.

But you are very much _not alone_ in this place.

The skittering of entirely too many feet draws your attention behind you, and giant spiders, glistening fangs bared, scramble your way. You force your tired body upwards, straining to reach the light-bathed woman before they reach you, their screams of rage growing as you stay just out of their reach. 

A final stretch, you can barely … reach… 

With the sensation of her hand grasping yours, you tumble to the ground, spiders and woman both gone as soldiers run towards you. You can’t make out their yells before mercifully collapsing into unconsciousness.

~~~

You groan as you open your eyes. If battered and exhausted was going to become commonplace, waking up was _really_ going to become your least favorite part of the day. This one is already looking to be unpleasant - you’re bound to the floor with heavy metal bands. You try to remember what happened - there was the Conclave, and then… the spiders? A staircase? Why a prison cell? You’re not sure what happened, and a brilliant green flair of light burning in your left palm quickly drives even those vague memories away. _What_ in the name of the entire Pantheon _and_ the Maker …?

The door slams open, and a few people march in, but you’re more focused on the furiously angry dark haired human woman before you. Or, perhaps more accurately, focused on her _extremely sharp sword_ that she seems eager to use, her fingers twitching toward it almost unconsciously as she frantically storms around you.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended it is dead - except for _you_.”

Wait… what? Everyone dead? How did you survive? What happened? Why can’t you remember? Why are _you_ , the _sole survivor_ , in chains-

Oh. Right. Elf. Sole survivor. _Obviously_ guilty.

The woman seems to be waiting for an answer, but every elf tends to learn fairly early that silence is the right answer in the face of an angry human, especially when you’re not entirely sure what’s going on.

Your palm flared again, and she grabbed your wrist, shaking it accusingly. “Explain _this_.” 

Finally, you’ve had enough. “I _can’t_!”

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“I don’t know what that is or how it got there!”

The woman lunges forward, her fists clenched, rage radiating off of her as she practically screams, “You’re _lying_!”

Thankfully, a second human woman sees fit to intervene, stepping between the two of you. “We need her, Cassandra.” The angry woman - Cassandra - scoffs and turns away, still angry, but acquiescing to the seemingly much more level-headed of the two. Calm eyes meet yours, betraying nothing. “Do you remember what happened?”

Haltingly you explain the little you _do_ remember, the woman in the darkness, the desperate chase… there’s not much to tell, so you trail off. Cassandra regards you with - if not _trust_ , perhaps a good deal less open hostility. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

Oh, _that_ sounds delightful.

~~~

The sounds of battle can distantly be heard as Cassandra leads you out of the prison cell, second only to the sound of desperate praying from groups of humans around, and the occasional screaming lament that the world is ending. The ending of the world doesn’t stop them from noticing _you_ , though, and their glares are like hot weights. Cassandra notices you cautiously watching the crowd. “They’ve decided your guilt. They _need_ it.” You guess you can understand - as both an Elf and an apostate you weren’t overly fond of the Chantry, but the seat of their faith was just murdered - but the automatic assumption of pointed ears and guilt still chafes. You fight to hold your head up - despite what they think, _you_ know you’re not guilty, and Dalish pride would allow nothing less.

The rift _pulses_ , and your arm explodes in pain. You cry out, falling, and Cassandra moves to help you up. “Every time the breach expands, so does the mark in your hand. It is killing you.”

You look up at her and nod - you don’t want to die, obviously, but _demons falling out of the sky_ is really the pressing issue here. “I understand. I’ll do what I can, whatever it takes.”

A surprised smile flickers across Cassandra’s face as she looks appraisingly down at you, before nodding, obviously coming to some decision. Before you can flinch away she unsheathes her knife, but uses it to cut your bonds. “I can promise a trial, nothing more. Come, your mark must be tested.”

A bolt of green lightning from the rift crashes down as the two of you are crossing a bridge to the camp path - it’s suddenly, painfully clear where much of the damage has come from as you tumble amidst flying brick and bodies to the frozen lake below. Green-tinged smoke bubbles forward, taking the shape of a Shade, and Cassandra rushes forward to meet it, ordering you to stay behind her. Another trail of smoke bubbles slowly upwards in front of you, however, announcing the arrival of a second demon. You spot a staff in the debris from the bridge and dart towards it. Demons, swords, and angry shems be damned, you are _not_ going to die today, not after all of this!

With the demons dispatched, you gratefully make your way to Cassandra, but startle back as she raises her sword to you. “ _Drop the staff_!” 

You hold your hands up in what you hope is a peaceful gesture as you slowly move to lower the weapon to the ground. You don’t technically _need_ the staff, but reminding her of that _really_ doesn’t aid your whole stay-alive-today plan.

“No - wait.” Cassandra stops you, sheathing her sword. “I can’t protect you. And… I should remember you agreed to come willingly.” 

Cassandra fills you in somewhat as you make your way forward, passing groups of soldiers and hastily built fortifications, rubble aflame, bodies left where they fell. An explosion during the peace talks, everyone dead, the mages and the Templars blaming each other, demons falling from the hole in the sky. Demons that appear occasionally as you keep moving forward. You can’t help but be glad the human is on your side - she charged into battle like it was her _purpose_. Large swings cut demons in two, their attacks barely seeming to faze her.

Finally, you reach what she was after - a smaller version of the angry green tear in the sky. Two men are fighting the demons that have emerged, impressively holding their own. One is a beardless dwarf, firing a crossbow with an expert hand - a crossbow that _has_ to be almost half as large as he is. The other is an elvhen mage like yourself - pale, hairless, wielding his staff with deadly grace. Cassandra rushes forward again, and you move to follow, your magic helping put down the monstrosities.

“Quickly, before more come through!” The elvhen mage grips your wrist tightly and thrusts it into the breach. Power surges through the mark and the rift dissipates. You snatch your hand away, scowling slightly. “What did you do?”

“I did nothing, the credit is yours.” The elf seems to know quite a bit about both the mark and the breach, as he quickly explains how your mark may be connected, perhaps being the only way to seal the hole. He bows slightly toward you. “It would seem you hold the key to our salvation.”

You’re… uncertain exactly how to respond to that, but the dwarf saves you from having to find a reply. “Oh good, and here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.” He introduces himself - Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller, occasional unwelcome tagalong - though you can see by Cassandra’s sneer that she doesn’t hold _nearly_ as high an opinion of him as he seems to hold of himself. 

You do have to address the one - ahem - _giant_ in the room, though…  
“That’s… a nice crossbow you have there.”

He pats the weapon, now stored on his back, lovingly. “Yeah, Bianca’s one of a kind. She and I have been through a lot together.”

“...you named your crossbow Bianca?”

Varric says something about how useful she’ll be in the valley against the demons and having seen her in action, you’re inclined to agree. Cassandra, however, does not, and the two begin arguing loudly

The elf gets your attention, talking smoothly over the other two. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

Varric pauses in his snarky quips at Cassandra to add, “He means ‘I kept that mark from killing you as you slept.’”

You shift slightly, grateful for the aid but somewhat uncomfortable with the idea of a strange man, elf or not, watching you sleep. You can tell from his still demeanor - and distinct lack of leering - that he’s probably _not_ a closet pervert, though, and settle more firmly on gratitude. Besides, he seems to know more about what’s going on than anyone, and right now that seems to be the most important thing.

Cassandra throws her hands up in a huff, obviously giving up on preventing Varric and Solas from accompanying you - though if her steamed mutters of “hardheaded dwarves” and “self-important, good-for-nothing…” were any indication, their spat was far from over. Solas follows her, urging you along.

“Well, _Bianca’s_ excited,” Varric remarked as he passed, his shrugging shifting the giant crossbow. You can’t help but grin, you just _know_ you’re going to like him.

~~~

A second rift at the forward camp, but this time you know what to do, reaching out when the demons are dispatched and closing the rift as if it were never there. Varric and Solas seem pleased, and you have to admit that Solas’s praise warms you a bit, given that he is obviously a gifted mage and you, although skilled with magic, have been following the "make it up as you go" school through all of this. Not _everyone_ shares his opinion, though, a fact that becomes blatantly obvious as you approach Leliana and an incredibly puffed-up Chantry chancellor. She is insisting you must face the breach, but he is shouting down both her and Cassandra, hurling insults. You’re pretty sure he’d have you executed then and there if it wouldn’t bloody his robes.

 _Really_ , isn’t closing the breach the more _pressing_ issue? You know, demons from the sky and such?

But _everything_ is an argument with these people, even down to what path to take. Cassandra insists on the safety of the soldiers, while Leliana believes that the indirect route through an old mine shaft would be safer. Finally they turn to you to decide - which really is only fair, given it’s _your hand_ and all, a thought that you’d never admit aloud to anyone here given their rather... eager approach toward any chance to do some bodily harm. 

Although Cassandra believes the soldiers would be safer, she’s obviously forgotten the angry glares and calls for your execution. There’s no telling who believes what, and a “slipped” blade from a Chantry knight really wouldn’t be the greatest for your health.

...a fact you remind yourself firmly of as you scale icy ladders in the snow. Many, many times.

~~~

The demons aren’t a surprise, but finding some of the lost scouting party is. You can’t deny some pleasure - the purely selfish side of you knows you need all the goodwill you can get when the sky is closed and everyone remembers their Divine is dead. What surprises you most of all, however, is when Cassandra refuses to take credit, admitting that you were the reason everyone came this way in the first place. You can’t help but warming to the woman - she’s fierce, terrifyingly so, but she seems to be fair, and now that she’s decided you’re on the right side she seems willing to openly treat you as equal, pointed ears or no. 

You’re pretty sure you should be concerned about the fact that the rift demons are becoming - well - _not_ concerning, but the warm praise that comes from Solas as you deftly handle the rift with your mark overrides that.

Which is foolish, really. _Demons. From. The. Sky._ It’s not like you’re going to ride off into the sunset on halla-back even if you _did_ know anything about him, which you don’t. A quick, admiring glance at his lithe form scaling the mine ladders won’t hurt anything, and no one has to know.

...until the Temple of Sacred Ashes drove the thoughts from your head and reminded all of you, harshly, why you were there. Words could not do justice to the carnage rent into the world, the very ground ripped into jagged peaks. The acrid smell of scorched flesh as you pass corpses aflame where they knelt, bodies twisted in semblance of agony. Where a monument to human faith once stood nothing but rubble and death remained. A sick parody of blood, bright red splashes of corrupted red lyrium. Above it all, pulsing an angry green, the breach torn into the sky itself.

The breach wasn’t done _giving_ just yet. As you made your way down, a deep voice, ancient and terrible, echoed out.

“Bring forth the sacrifice.”

The memory is _almost_ there, just below the surface, but you still _don’t know what happened_.

Divine Justinia’s voice, crying out for help.  
Crying out to _you_.

Shadows pour from the rift, and form an image of the Divine. Something holds her in place as she calls out for you to run and warn the others.  
But terror rips through you as the shadows form the semblance of a man, larger than even a Quinari, and it points in your direction as the cold voice echoes out again.

“Slay the elf.”

Solas grips your arm to get your attention, and Cassandra calls to the soldiers that have joined you to prepare for battle as you reach out your mark to the rift, power rushing _out_ instead of _in_.

The rift _blasts_ open, and a hideous scaled creature marches forth. You’ve seen them before, during your brief trips to the fade, so Solas’s cry of “Pride demon!” comes as no surprise.  
It is _ferocious_ , though, lightning ripping across the battlefield and into any soldier not quick enough to escape. Your magic flows out of you as your staff flies in your hand, whittling down the demon.

In desperation, the second the pride demon falls, you fling your hand towards the rift, and power surges from your palm to the sky. A cry rips from you as raw magic rages unchecked, burning into the breach.

For a dizzying moment, everything is silent, but the cheers that arise from the remaining soldiers fall on deaf ears as your exhausted body pitches forward in a dead faint.


	2. Chapter 2: Haven/An Inquisition Is Born

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am fully aware that I’m slow at updating - many apologies. I do promise that updates will come, just.. Slow, sometimes, during the busier work times. I’ll try to get at least one every other week, maybe even eventually one a week, but I’m also still fleshing out this whole write-in-public thing, so yeah.
> 
> You finished that prologue? No spoilers then! Haven’t finished the prologue? **DO IT**. Seriously, you owe it to yourself. And then come back, mmkay?

You come to with a start, noting that you’re clean, clothed, and mercifully not chained. Someone’s done some healing, too, because you are no longer bearing the marks of your battle with the pride demon. The mark on your hand is quiet for now, which hopefully means you succeeded in your task. Now to take stock.

You’re in a bed in an unassuming one-room cabin, alone as far as you can tell - though the rattling of the door handle says you won’t be that way for long. An elven maid makes her way inside, carrying a bucket and cleaning supplies. She starts when she sees you awake, her bucket clattering to the floor…  
And she promptly falls to her knees in a deep, terrified bow. _What?_

Any attempt at questioning the girl gives you nothing but stammered, terrified ramblings you can pick little out of. You’re in a place called Haven, brought here by the soldiers after the battle. The breach stopped growing, everyone saying you saved them all.  
You’ve been out for _three days_ …

What you _can_ pick out is that Cassandra is waiting for news that you have awoken. “At once, she said!” came the stammered cry as the girl practically threw herself out the door and away from you. You’ve experienced the occasional distrust between city elves and Dalish, but your own kind running from you in terror? That’s a new one.

Your armor and staff have been left for you, at least. You quicky don them as you glance around the room for anything else. A note catches your eye - you move toward it, thinking for a moment of Solas watching over you after you crawled from the rift. The forming smile quickly dies as you read over the observations. The untidy scrawl didn’t match the smooth elvhen apostate in your head, but even besides that fanciful notion, the wish for a Templar to help guard you quickly ended any doubt. 

With a sigh, you make your way out of the cabin, to find Cassandra and face the music.

~~~

They were… Lined up... Waiting for you. 

Soldiers, workmen, nobles, Chantry members… Lines two and three deep, bowing as you passed, looking at you like you were Andraste herself. Murmurs follow you, naming you Herald of Andraste, saying you saved the world.

Definitely discomfiting. 

Trying not to shift as you walk, doing your best to ignore the solemn adoration following you, you make your way up the stairs to an old Chantry building. The line of faithful follow you directly to the Chantry doors. It seems like the entirety of the refugees from the Conclave has deemed you holy.

...except, of course, your old pal Roderick, if the screaming match between him and Cassandra are anything to go by, audible even through the heavy oaken doors of the inner sanctum. Good to know _some_ things haven’t changed.

Nothing to do but storm in dramatically, of course.

Roderick immediately calls for you to be chained and prepped for transport to Val Royeaux for trial, an order Cassandra just as immediately countermands, sending the soldiers away. It’s obvious who holds the most command - Cassandra's is the voice followed without question, despite Roderick’s air of pomp.

A quick discussion confirms what you’d already heard - the breach was still in the sky, but it was no longer expanding. It was clear that Roderick was hanging onto your guilt, along with many of the Chantry higher-ups, even despite you risking your life to stop the breach.

Leliana is quick to remind the again-shouting Roderick that you were still after whoever was behind the explosion, and not even he was above suspicion. His sputtering was almost comical to watch, until Cassandra made you all jump as she slammed a heavy book down onto table. “You know what this is, Chancellor. The Divine’s directive. The Inquisition reborn.” She turns to you, obviously dismissing the angry Chantry man. “We have nothing, but we have no choice. You, as the Herald, are willing to help, yes?”

It certainly couldn’t _hurt_ matters, especially if you could find out what really happened during the blast and inside the rift. Restore some order, help out some refugees as an elf, clear your name, and really stick it to Roderick and his cronies in the process? Consider yourself sold!

Leliana sends out her crows, and pilgrims begin pouring in. Some come because they have nowhere else to go - the war between the mages and Templars has driven them from their homes. Others come to see the so-called “Herald of Andraste,” their faith calling them to any cause you support. As you and the Left and Right Hands of the Divine begin calling them to you, you see something beginning to bloom in their eyes. In the refugees, when they look at you, you see the barest beginnings of hope. In Roderick and many of the remaining Chantry members, there is nothing but fear. 

As of yet, though, you are a wolf with no teeth. You have no leader, no support, no influence… No one who matters will even speak to you, and some are outright denouncing your cause. Until a leader is chosen, you are joined by Cassandra and Leliana - the Seeker and the Spymaster - as well as two other advisors. 

Josephine Montilyet is amusing, greeting you in the little Elvhen she knows when the two of you first meet. She’s an Antivan noble with strong Orlesian ties, and it’s obvious from the beginning that you’d be lost without her. You, an apostate mage with limited contact experience with humans, aren’t known for your… tact, much preferring Cassandra’s straight-as-an-arrow approach over flowery, pretty words. Josephine handles self-important nobility with poise and grace, smoothing ruffled feathers, gaining promises while giving little in return… Her bright, sunshine-filled personality brings a smile to your face as she talks about this lord or that baroness, even if you can’t hope to follow court intrigue.

Commander Cullen Rutherford, once of the Templars but no longer. You can’t deny he makes you a bit uncomfortable - he is rather imposing and Templars and apostates notoriously don’t mix. He vows not to judge mages without provocation, but it does sit there between you as you talk, filled with awkward pauses and failed starts. In front of his men or in the council room, however, and he is confidence personified, drilling with any pilgrim that shows even the smallest of talent in combat. 

You’re not sure if this will be successful. Honestly, if pressed, you’re not even sure you’re confident in the people standing with you - you barely know them, and if not for the mark on your hand they probably would not have glanced your way twice. Be it Providence or merely coincidence, however - your paths are now aligned.

~~~

The one big argument between the advisors is who to approach to help with the breach. Cullen is certain the Templars are the answer, while Leliana and Cassandra believe you should reach out to the rebel mages. Privately you don’t really care _who_ you reach out to - when facing giant demon-infested holes in the sky, the more help the better in your opinion. At the moment, however, it really doesn’t matter. With the Chantry denouncing you as heretics and the Templars and mages busy with each other, you’re more likely to be laughed, or killed, than assisted.  
Hope is not lost though - a Chantry Mother named Giselle is asking to speak to the Herald. She is one of the few Chantry members you’ve seen doing anything you consider even close to worthwhile, tending to the wounded refugees from the bloody fighting in the Hinterlands. It can’t hurt to meet her, and with Cassandra, Solas, and Varric by your side, you set out to start seeing exactly what this Inquisition can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see what you’re thinking. No, I’m not going to cover every quest in depth - some are just going to be glossed over, some are going to be completely unmentioned. If you’ve played through - AS YOU SHOULD - you’ll be able to read between the lines in the things we change or skip over.
> 
> Next we’re going to do something I’ve been kind of looking forward to - an “intermission” chapter. Curious? Tune in and find out!
> 
> Also, I'm aware this one is a bit... short. I _am_ sorry, but the next chapter won't be long at all in coming - I have all my notes ready for it and everything!


	3. Intermission 1: The Faithful and the Following

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, intermission time.  
> What are intermissions? These are going to be little story-lets in between the main chapters. They won’t always be in second person, and some might not even feature you at all. Usually they’ll be shorter than main chapters, a little snack between the courses as it were.  
> The point and purpose? Sometimes, it’s to add depth to some of the people travelling with us. Sometimes, it’s to build on a background relationship (and there will be a few here and there!). Sometimes it will be little asides between you and your lovers (and a few might even be from their POV).  
> This one is still in second person, and will probably be a bit longer, but it’s something I feel really _should_ be done, especially this early on: meeting some of the important background people that help run your Inquisition. The beautiful thing about this game (and something I’m trying to bring to this fic) is how rich the people are around you. You know their names and suddenly it _matters_ that you’re saving the world from demons. It won’t really feature the companions or Cullen, they’ll be featured more heavily in the main chapters, but as Herald it’s time to meet the people who support your cause!

Preparations for the mission to the Hinterlands will take some time, so Josephine suggests you take this time to explore Haven, being seen by the pilgrims and getting to know some of the people behind the day-to-day workings of the Inquisition. “Good for morale and image,” was her reasoning as she ushered you out of the council room while she and the other advisers moved to begin their various assignments. You agreed with her, but for a slightly different reason: if you were going to be here a while, it would be better to get to know the power players and get the feel of the crowd - right now you were the herald, but how long until they stopped seeing Andraste and started seeing ears and staff? Better to make friends while the goodwill from stopping the Breach was still strong.

You do wish the people would stop _bowing_ so much, though. The knife ear comments, being talked over or brushed aside, looked down at and viewed with suspicion, common rudeness because of what you were… while it wasn’t _pleasant_ , it was _comfortable_ , it was known and familiar. The stammers and apologies and scraping for favors or blessing? Not so much. 

You stand at the entrance to the Chantry building, gathering yourself, shielding your eyes from the sun glare off the snow as you take stock of the seat of the Inquisition. It… doesn’t look like much, if you’re terribly honest. Nothing about the ramshackle tents and collection of people is awe-inspiring or hope-inducing. Right now, they’re more together in their sorrow over the loss of Justinia than over any real ideology. It’s a start, though, and either fate or the Maker or someone in your own pantheon had decided that this was the lot you’d throw in with. So, meeting the masses.

Directly in front of the Chantry doors was the tent Leliana had claimed as her headquarters. You found it odd that the Spymaster would set up in somewhere so… open… but honestly, the woman was terrifying, so she could really set up anywhere she pleased without having to worry about anyone trying anything. She was so quiet and unassuming, but when she spoke, people _listened_ , and not because they so eagerly wanted to hear what she wanted to say, like with Josephine, for example. 

Something that is obvious to _you_ though, is just how deeply the Divine’s death was hurting her. She waved you off whenever you saw her questioning or in pain, even though you offered to listen. Any chink in that hard armor was mercilessly sealed off to protect those around her, and to protect herself from the pain that came from getting too close or caring too much. She had to be ready to act at a moment’s notice to defend the fledgling Inquisition and protect her agents, no matter how brutal or cold that act had to be.

There were times you had to stand against her, though, as terrifying as she was. You felt she was too quick to reach for the knife sometimes - murder wasn’t _always_ the immediate answer. She called you idealistic, meaning it as an insult, but this was _important_ to you - the meager attempt at a movement here wasn’t currently bound by ideals, but it _could_ be, it _could_ be a force for peace and order - but the people had to see their leaders following the same ideals, or it would fall apart as surely as the Templars and the Chantry. She didn’t understand yet, she couldn’t, but you hoped you would all live long enough that maybe she _would._

~~~

Beside the Spymaster’s tent was the quartermaster, Threnn. She was the one supplying the Inquisition, as best as she could, anyway, given the state of things. Her eyes glanced over you, noting the ears and little else. “If it’s a mop and bucket you’re after, they’re over there. If anyone calls you knife-ear, though, you come to me.” 

You wait a moment, not saying anything. Her eyes widen in surprise as she looks closer, finally recognizing you. “Oh! You’re her! The Herald, I mean.” Being immediately relegated to servant is demeaning, but she’s more polite than some of the humans you’d passed today. Still, it’s one thing you hope to change through this whole Inquisition business.

You ask about how she came here, and about how things are going, if there’s anything you can do to help. There are countless things needed, but you make note to send some of the agents travelling with you to the Hinterlands to try to find some of the materials she’s after. Herbs, ore, basic supplies - it would do the soldiers some good to do more than merely fight. 

~~~

The sounds of singing and merriment draw you to an alehouse. The tavern is one of the more well-built cabins in the area, if in the same rustic style as the cabin you first awoke in and now call yours. Behind the bar is a sweet little barmaid named Flissa, who recognizes you immediately. She seems both startled and starstruck, and you uncomfortably try to set her at ease. You sit with her a while, listening to the bard and to her retelling of various barroom gossip, the next best currency of any realm. You gently ask her to keep an ear out, saying something about wanting to keep morale up, and she eagerly agrees - enough to make you feel a little bad for manipulating her. Truthfully, if the winds change here is where you would begin to feel it, and you wanted as early a warning possible if things were beginning to turn sour.

~~~

Above the tavern resides the apothecary, a brusque human man named Adan. Meeting him the first time was… well. _Uncomfortable_ didn’t quite measure up when you discovered it was he that was caring for you while you were out after the battle at the Temple and the author of the observation notes you'd found, made even more so by the fact that the cabin Solas had claimed was just beyond this one. 

You’re a bit taken back by his incredibly abrupt and sarcastic nature, until you realize that it’s more concern driving him than contempt. Many of the requisitions you saw with Threnn were from him, tending to the wounded still pouring in from the war as best he could. You’ll definitely see to finding those herbs for him - you make a mental note to approach one of the advisers about it. If the Inquisition was going to be about anything, it was _not_ going to be about people dying needlessly. 

Apparently, that’s what Templars and rogue mages were for.

~~~

With every conflict comes the vultures that seek to profit from it. For Haven and the Inquisition, Seggritt was that vulture. Even if you _hadn’t_ heard others complaining of his inflated prices during your walk through the camp, his attitude the moment he saw you - all slimy simpering - would have disgusted you immediately. Like Flissa, he recognized you the moment he saw you. _Unlike_ Flissa, it was obvious his regard was purely out of self interest. 

“Herald! I thought you might be stopping by. I’d heard you’d awakened - I paid that kni- ah… _nice_ elven lass good coin to tell me when you had. Please, if there’s something I can do for you, _do_ let me know. I will sell you anything you need, for a _price_ , of course. The war, you understand.”

You’re debating exactly what statement would be made by the Herald of Andraste breaking a merchant’s nose when you’re saved by the small, angry form of Minaeve approaching. Dedicating herself to the study of beasts, she was usually exceedingly gentle, not quick to conflict, used to her place in the world as both an elf and an apprentice Circle mage.

Well… with one _glaring_ exception.

“Seggritt!”

The merchant held up his hands appeasingly, with an amused grimace at you, but it quickly faded when he saw that you were more than happy to stand aside and allow her to do… whatever, really, especially if it hurt. 

“Minaeve, dear, to what-”

“Don’t you start with me!” She interrupted, practically vibrating. “I told you demon talons were too dangerous to put on the market for just anyone to come in contact with, but you just wouldn’t listen, would you? But besides that, if I _ever_ hear of you mistreating one of the Tranquil again…”

You can’t hide the wicked smile that shows up. There it was. She could forgive anything _except_ abuse of the Tranquil, and Seggritt seemed _just_ the sort of man to take advantage where he could. It’s also a cause you fully support, one you’re more than happy she stands firmly for. 

The sound of her tearing into him lends a spring to your step as you continue your exploration of Haven. Sometimes it’s the _little_ things that bring such joy...

~~~

Wrapping up your meeting of the masses brings you to Harritt, the blacksmith. Of all of the people you’d met supporting the Inquisition, he was one of the most simple, the most honest, the most _kind._ You watched as he treated all who entered his stable-turned-smithy with the same respect, and when he didn’t begin treating you special because of your status, your opinion of him went up even further. 

He was busy organizing items for the Hinterlands expedition, but he stopped to talk to you and give you a rundown of the smithy and what was being prepared when you approached. Many of the scouts and soldiers would go ahead, securing the area, and you and your companions would follow. You don’t keep him long, bidding him farewell, but he’s the one you think back to the most as you make your way back to your cabin, to rest before the long journey. He’s here because he _cares_ , and because he _hopes_. He hopes you can save them all.

Maybe you can. Maybe this mark, this whole damned _mess_ , can be good for _something._  
Maybe you’d see when you finally reached the Hinterlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, a second update in a week! Cupcakes all around!  
> And yes, if it isn’t obvious, I _never_ liked Seggritt. But that’s okay. He gets his. Ahem.
> 
> Next up, the Hinterlands! But you have to camp with these crazy new companions of yours… How exciting!  
> Do tune in next time, my lovelies!


	4. Chapter 3: The Hinterlands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, don’t hate the Duchess. Life happens…  
> ...and the Mass Effect trilogy happened…
> 
> Okay, I admit, Bioware hooked me again.  
> But I’m back again, all yours, I haven’t forgotten you my darlings! As penance, this is a slightly longer chapter.

The Hinterlands are farther south than Haven, so it’s noticeably warmer as you travel, a fact you first appreciate but quickly grow to not care for as sweat slicks your hair down and your armor, light as it is, grows heavy with the long miles. The few horses the Inquisition have were not up to such a distance, so you and your three companions make due on foot. Your clan was significantly farther north, so the heat comes across as hard to ignore, a situation you find even more uncomfortable as you realize you’re trying to prove yourself to your companions. They address you as _Herald_ , for the Maker’s sake. You can put up with a little heat, especially if they can. Solas and Cassandra, of course, seem as unruffled as ever, not bending to anything nature dares to throw their way. Varric responded to the heat by unbuttoning his shirt further. You remember the first time you saw him, battling at a rift, a nameless beardless dwarf… 

Not beardless, you realize. Just… a bit lower than normal, on his chest instead of his face. He of course ribs you every time he notices your side-eyed stare, almost _preening_ under the attention you try to avoid him detecting. It’s just so… _hairy_. Elvhen men aren’t known for being particularly hirsute - Solas himself is bald - and even the human soldiers you’ve seen training don’t often come close to the massive red _pillow_ that stares at you from Varric’s chest. Part of you is horrified, but a morbid curiosity does make you want to poke it and see if it squeaks like a nug.

Which you would _never do_ , though the shock on Varric’s face _might_ make it worth it…

~~~

Leliana’s scout is a dwarf named Harding. Varric makes some joke asking about her ever being in Hightower, which causes Cassandra to scoff in disgust. Solas looks faintly amused, but you and Harding exchange confused glances. Now’s not the time, though - Harding has led Inquisition forces to help where she can, and the situation is… dire.

Many of the refugees fled their homes with only the clothes on their backs, no time to gather food, possessions, even winter protection. The rogue mages and templars attack anyone they see, murdering and plundering. It’s sickening, really - even the main Templar and mage forces have denounced these bands of renegades, who seem to be slaughtering merely to do so. There’s no excuse to harm innocent civilians, the _creatures_ here are brutalizing those around them simply because they _could_ , drunk with power and blood-haze.

Mother Giselle is sitting with the refugees, tending to the wounded. You immediately decide you like her, no matter what side she decides to be on. As of yet, she’s one of the few members of _any_ organization around Thedas - except your own, of course - that’s doing _something_ to help the common folk, with no ulterior motive, and that in and of itself earns your respect. She is an admirable woman, not judging others simply because of what is said about them or who they are, speaking to you as a natural equal despite the difference in your race. She… has faith, faith in you to do right by the world. She has hope. Whether or not you believe in yourself or the Maker’s will, she believes you’ll be the one to do what needs to be done, and will lend her support to your cause. 

You’re uncomfortable with trust given simply because of position, however, and seeing the refugees huddled in the makeshift tent city, you decide that if such faith is going to be placed in you, you’re going to _do_ something about it. You’re not too high and mighty to help those that need it, to hunt or run errands too dangerous for others to currently take. Besides, you’re the only one who can seal rifts, and that certainly needs to be done. The Hinterlands is a warzone, and if no one will come in and help, well… you’ll claim these lands for the Inquisition, and everyone else be damned. 

You take your companions aside to explain your thought process - sure, you may be in this blood-soaked region for a few weeks, but by the time you leave the survivors will be spreading word of the works of the fledgling Inquisition, which can only help matters, right? Besides, the three advisers back in Haven had things firmly in hand when you left - this would give them time to further secure their own positions and supports. You’ve decided to stay either way - if any of the companions disagree, well… they’re free to return to Haven as they wish. 

Surprisingly, not only do they agree, they seem to _approve_. Okay, no, you have to correct yourself there. It’s not surprising to you that they agree with your decision and stay to follow you, and _that’s_ what’s surprising. Sure, Varric complains _loudly_ about camping conditions and the lack of finery he’s become used to, and Cassandra demands - _just as loudly_ \- justice be brought to the fighting forces immediately (as it’s obvious she just wants to _hit something_ and you’re a little concerned about Varric’s health if she doesn’t find something soon), but the approval glinting in their eyes as they watch you and listen to your input fills you with a sort of warmth.

~~~

You check with the refugees for anything they might need, send soldiers off to accomplish certain tasks, and set off with your companions as soon as you’re prepared. The first thing, the biggest thing, needed is to secure the Hinterlands, and that means setting up base camps and dealing with demons - things you and your small band are uniquely equipped to do. Harding has marked places where forward camps would be well suited, and your job is to clear the way there.

Of course there are plenty of fights to be had. Solas remarks that the Templars here have grown lax, being some time since they’d faced mages of skill, and Cassandra’s Seeker talents rip through apostate mages with little trouble. You realize you’re beginning to trust each other as yet another rift seals closed, beginning to move seamlessly around each other in battle. 

Even traveling begins to be less… awkward. As you reach and mark a location for a base camp, sending a raven back and waiting for the soldier scout party to arrive and secure the area, you spend time getting to know the people you’re traveling with. Varric, a born storyteller, loves spinning tales around a campfire. More than that, he is possessed of the singular ability to draw others into his banter - true, Cassandra winds up yelling more often than not, but as the days pass her irritation begins to lose its bite. She even submits to stories of her time in the Seekers and of some of her family in Nevarra - apparently a noble house of dragon hunters - though it’s obvious to you that there is pain there. You prepare to step in if Varric pushes too hard against whatever Cassandra is holding close, but never have to - he knows exactly when to push and when to deflect with a joke, gliding through the pitfalls and traps of dangerous conversation with grace even a Bard would envy.  
Not even Solas is immune, as you get him to tell some of his experiences in the Fade, though he is more cautious with his telling around Cassandra, who grows wary at the mention of spirits. He seems glad of the chance to travel, pointing out old ruins and telling you of histories he’s discovered throughout his nightly journeys.

~~~

It’s the second day of waiting at one of the base camps that you find yourself alone with Varric. Cassandra has gone off hunting - meat and pelts were the top of the list for many of the refugees and the hills of the Hinterlands were filled with mountain goats, and the plan is to send some back with a scout party when they arrive to claim the camp. Solas has gone to hunt herbs for the healers, and you have stayed behind to brew down elfroot for healing potions, refletch arrows and patch up armor, general busy-work. Varric takes a spot beside you, absently polishing Bianca, staring into the distance, both avoiding and watching the breach still in the sky.

“So now that Cassandra’s out of earshot… are you holding up alright? I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

You manage the same half-watch-half-avoid breach stare he’s doing, before sighing and looking down at your marked hand. “Had to make an entrance, right?” You halfheartedly quip, before shaking your head. “Too many people died up there, Varric. I don’t even want to _think_ about how many lives were lost up on that mountain.”

“A lot of good men and women didn’t make it out of there. For days we stared up at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ is an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.”

Finally, you were able to ask one of the questions that was bothering you. “Why did you stay? Cassandra said you were free to go.”

Varric’s rich laugh rolls over the camp. “I like to think I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but…” his laugh cut off as if it were never there. “But this… Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them. And now, there’s a hole in the sky. Even _I_ can’t just walk away and leave that to sort itself out.”

“It was pure luck that I escaped.”

“Good luck or bad? Look… you might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Heroes are everywhere, I’ve seen that. But the hole in the sky? That’s beyond heroes. We’re going to need a _miracle_. You’re still a kid, Kid. You have a chance. If you wanted to go, well… I wouldn’t stop you, and I wouldn’t judge.”

You take in his words for a moment, hearing both what he was saying and wasn’t, studying your hand. Behind his snarky facade, he genuinely cared, the “selfish and irresponsible” clearly a mask against the outside world. A dwarf from the Free Marches, a businessman, a spy, an author… everything and nothing at all. He wouldn’t judge you if you felt the need to run, but more than most he would probably understand your need to _stay_. Clenching your fist, you flash a smile his way, and both of you pretend that it’s closer to grin than grimace. “Maybe I’m not as selfish and irresponsible as is healthy to be.”

His smile is enigmatic, and the one-shoulder shrug shows you that he’s not surprised by your answer in the slightest. He’s still stroking his crossbow, and you’re both in need of a change in topic, so you have to ask. “Varric… about Bianca…”

It’s immediately obvious from his laugh and the quirk of an eyebrow that he’s prepared to lie, and lie _gloriously_. “She’s one of a kind. Won her in a game of cards off a guy in Montfort. Bet everything I had, but it was worth it.”

A dry chuckle made you jump - the fact you heard no one approaching meant Solas, who seemed to move soundlessly over any terrain. “Really, Varric? You told me you killed a man in Val Fontaine for it… Took you a week to pry his fingers off the handle, if I recall correctly.” 

Varric didn’t even bother to reply to the elf, his wide, toothy grin speaking for him. “Sorry Kid. Bianca is special… and is the one story I’ll never tell.”

~~~

Days pass, and the Hinterlands are slowly coming to bear. You’ve dealt with the apostate mage presence and have been working your way steadily north. A raven had come from Leliana about a horsemaster in the area that would aid the Inquisition a great deal, and there was still the rogue Templars to address. 

The homesteads you passed were ravished and burning, obviously plundered, possessions deemed worthless strewn about still-blazing buildings. The flagrant disrespect for life chafed you as well as your companions, and you were eager to bring the fight to the men who had broken their oaths to protect others. Perhaps your anger was getting the better of you, but the fact that it was _Templars_ \- rogue and cutthroat and untrained, perhaps, but still _Templars_ \- slipped your mind when you finally found their stronghold. They had grown bold by the diminished mage presence - your doing - attacking civilians openly, and didn’t consider the four of you any threat whatsoever.

A mistake on their part, certainly, but also a mistake on _yours_ , as lyrium-enhanced knights manage to separate you from the other three, their skills absorbing yours. Cassandra is deep in the fray, holding her own. Varric is staying _just_ out of reach, his poison-soaked bolts punching new holes in attacking men. Even Solas is managing, his Fade-enhanced steps keeping him out of harm’s way. You… you might be in trouble. 

Your staff becomes both weapon and focus as knights close in on you, some spells finding their mark as others flicker and die away. Every step they advance shows in new marks appearing on your skin, new nicks in your armor. Your grip is beginning to slide over the polished handle of your staff as blood - some the enemy’s, but entirely too much yours - coats your hands. Fire races through you as one of them slips past your guard and a knife bites deep into your side. You can’t spare the time or distraction to fumble for a healing potion, scrambling backwards to give yourself as much casting time as possible.

There, a breath of a moment, as a crossbow bolt sprouts from where the knight’s left eye used to be and he falls. And then _he_ is there, pushing you behind him, green-tinged Fade magic dancing over his skin as he puts up a barrier between you and the Templars, his face a hard, grim mask of determination. He holds them back until Cassandra is upon them, tearing through their defenses and ending their blight upon the people of the Hinterlands. And you… you do your best to maintain consciousness, gripping your staff with blood-soaked hand. You’re not a fighter, not really, and as your strength fades you wonder just how… _disappointed_ they will be in the frailty of their Herald.

Firm fingers grip your chin, pushing a glass vial to your lips and urging you to swallow, the bitter taste of elfroot filling your mouth. “Just hold on,” you hear distantly. “Just hold on.”

~~~  
You swim back to consciousness, biting back a groan. You’re alive, no question - the lingering taste of the elfroot potion is _entirely_ too unpleasant to be the peace of death. You’re in a tent, covered in a light blanket, which is good because someone removed your shirt and bandaged your wounds as you slept. The smaller marks have faded - healing potions doing their job - and the tenderness to your side is closer to that of a week-old tear than a life-threatening day-old injury. 

The sound of pages turning draws your attention to the side, to the form lounging beside you. You can hear Cassandra and Varric bickering outside, but here he is beside you, focused on the book in his hand. _Of course_ he packed books, he never missed a chance for his studies. Even though his focus is elsewhere, you can’t stop the blush that tints your ears, or the check to make sure the thin blanket is covering your shoulders. You chide yourself for being silly, but can’t help yourself. He’s never been anything other than perfectly polite, never shown an interest of _that_ sort, even if you _do_ find him rather attractive.

“Templars can be… remarkably resilient, especially for a mage.” His soft voice doubles your sense of foolishness and you flush for a different reason. It’s not quite a rebuke, not quite chastisement… but you know you acted rashly, and it could have cost more than just _your_ life - closing the breach rested on your singularly marked fist. You nod once, to show that you understood his message, and he settles in further, marking his spot before setting his book aside and turning to you.

“So… the Chosen of Andraste, the blessed hero sent to save us all.” The humor in his eyes show that no malice is meant in the remark, his head tilted to study you. 

“I’m not a hero,” you mutter, burrowing further down into your sheet. 

“I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten. Every great war has its heroes. I’m just… curious as to what kind you’ll be.”

You can’t place his accent, but that doesn’t mean much - your clan stuck to the Free Marches, and the world was much wider than that. It’s obvious he knows significantly more about the Fade than anyone you’ve ever met, and you can’t help asking more.

“Tell me about your ruins and battlefields, Solas.”

His lips quirk in a smile - from the time you’ve spent traveling, you know this is one of his favorite subjects. “Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

You can’t help but make a face. “Isn’t that… dangerous?”

He chuckles softly. “I do set wards, and if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are generally content to live and let live.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone traveling so deeply into the Fade. It’s extraordinary.”

“Thank you. It’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. But the thrill of finding remnants of a thousand year old dream? I would not trade it for anything. You understand, as a mage. You choose a dance because you like the steps, bringing your will and indomitable focus to bear on the world around you.”

And the blush is back, but you can’t stop the question that falls from your lips, an eyebrow quirking up at him. “Indomitable focus?”

“Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine the sight would be… fascinating.” His intense eyes travel your face, studying and weighing, for a moment, before leaning back with the hint of a smirk as you do your best not to let your momentary breathlessness show. 

“I will stay, then… at least until the Breach is closed.”

You look back up at him, startled. “Was that in doubt?”

“I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces in the middle of a mage rebellion. You are their Herald, and are thus afforded protection, but I... Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

The fierceness of your response surprises both of you. “You came here to _help_ , Solas. I won’t let them use that against you.”

“How would you stop them?”

“However I had to.”

His expression is thoughtful again, studying you as if you were a puzzle he didn’t quite yet understand. “Thank you.”

He turns away and you can tell he means to resume his reading, but you’re not quite ready to let go yet. “Tell me about yourself, Solas.”

Surprise flickers across his face. “Why?”

“I enjoy learning about you.”

“That’s not quite an answer.”

“Well then… I enjoy learning about your experiences, and the friends you’ve made in the Fade. And,” you lean up on an elbow to better face him, bursting out before you lose your nerve, “maybe I look forward to helping you make _new_ friends.”

Whatever he was expecting, that was _not_ it. “That would be… well.” He clears his throat, clearly, for once, at a loss for words. A triumphant smirk crawls across your own face as you inwardly rejoice - him and his _indomitable focus_ indeed. 

Before he can find the words to respond, or put the conversation back on track, the tent flap flies open to admit sunlight and a dwarf. Varric’s knowing eyes flicker between the two of you but he says nothing, instead offering you food and a graceful way out of the situation the two of you found yourself in.

~~~

Three long weeks, and you’re finally ready to put the Hinterlands behind you. The refugees are as settled as they can be, the roads are safer, Master Dennett agreed to send horses to the Inquisition… the only place you weren’t able to enter was the city of Redcliffe, the seat of the rebel mages, and they were holding order well enough. It wasn’t much, but it was a _start_ , a foothold for the Inquisition to begin to grow. 

You were surprised to realize that you were almost eager to return to Haven, to see what Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine had come up with as the next course of action. You weren’t exactly sure when, but “they” was slowly becoming “us,” aligning you more and more firmly to the Inquisition and its members as you spread what influence you could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fortunately you won’t have to wait as long for the next update, I promise!
> 
> Well, an Intermission, and then the next big step.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, lovelies!


	5. Intermission 2: The Templar Blushes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should be obvious we’re out to get a little Templar lovin’ in this intermission ;) 
> 
> Poor Cullen doesn’t get to travel with us, so he has to get some extra special time in between the missions, you know how it is.
> 
> Part of my favorite thing about him is just how darn _adorable_ he can be - our quizzie flirts and he hems and haws and gets all awkward… It’s the simple things.

It’s been three weeks since you’ve seen Haven, and you can’t deny being glad to be back. Or, at least, to finally have a _bath_ , and the _bed_ in your cabin instead of a tent… 

It’s clear that your work isn’t quite done, however, as the noise from the practicing soldiers separates into shouting of a different sort. You hurriedly make your way to the doors of the Chantry, where a crowd is forming around the center of the argument.

A few of the mages that had come in to support you from the Hinterlands were facing off with some of the former Templars in a screaming match that was just a few hard words from turning to blows. 

“Your kind killed the Most Holy!”

“Liar! _Your_ kind _let_ her die!”

Idiots. You go to shove your way between them, but the broad form of Cullen gets there first, pushing them apart, his voice pitched to drown theirs out and carry over the crowd. “ _Enough_! We are _not_ Templars any longer, we are _all_ part of the Inquisition!”

The combatants step back, beginning to look ashamed, before the snide voice of Roderick weasels its way in. “And what does _that_ mean, exactly?”

Cullen crosses his arms, clearly unamused. “Chancellor, back already? Haven’t you done enough?”

“I’m curious, Commander, how your Inquisition and it’s “Herald” will restore order as you’ve promised?” He gestures at the crowd around you.

“Of _course_ you are. Back to your duties, all of you!” Cullen’s tone makes it clear that he will accept to hesitation or argument, and quickly everyone vanishes, to avoid his fiery glare. 

Roderick sneers back at him, he may have lost his audience, but he’s clearly not impressed, a fact that’s reinforced as he takes in your road-worn appearance. Well, you weren’t here to freshen up for him, anyway. “Commander?” you ask, letting him know without words that you were there to support his authority as you could.

Cullen, however, shakes his head in frustration. “Mages and Templars were already at war. Now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death. We -”

Roderick interrupted loudly, “Which is why require a _proper_ authority to guide them back to order!”

“Who, you? Random clerics not important enough to be at the Conclave?” The scorn is clear in Cullen’s voice. 

“But the rebel Inquisition and it’s so called Herald of Andraste? I think not.”

You turn to him. “We’re just trying to help, Chancellor. The Inquisition claims only that we must close the Breach or perish.”

“Says the one likely behind this madness! How can you claim _she’s_ the voice of Andraste, Commander? She’s not even hu-...”

Cullen, ramrod straight and shaking with visible anger, takes a single step forward, putting himself dangerously close to the shouting Chantry priest. If the hand on his sword hilt wasn’t clear enough, the promise of naked steel in his voice drives it home. “Finish that sentence, Roderick, and it will be your last.”

Roderick huffs, tugging his vest down and raising his head high before striding away, taking his time as if saying he leaves because he _chooses_ to. Cullen sighs, scrubbing his hand through blond curls as the two of you watched him walk away. “ _Maker_ , but I can’t stand that man…”

Finally, he turns to you, the anger flowing out of him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet you as you arrived, Herald. Certain… parties have been causing trouble. Nothing we can’t handle, of course. If you have a moment, I can show you the new troops. Ah, but, you’ve just arrived, I’m sure you-...” 

You grin up at him, his awkward rambling amusing. “It’s fine, Cullen. Show me the recruits.”

~~~

Cullen’s influence is clear - the ragtag band of soldiers are beginning to shape into a military unit. He simply can’t help himself as you pass through the trainees, shouting correction and encouragement as you walk. “You there, there’s a shield in your hand, block with it! Lieutenant, don’t hold back - if they were enemies, he’d be dead!”

He turns back to you with a wry smile. “We’ve gathered a number of recruits. Some pilgrims, some refugees… None of them made _quite_ the entrance you did, of course.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, tired as you were. “Well, at least I got everyone’s attention?”

His voice was soft as he looked down at you. “That you did.” He cleared his throat and gestured for you to continue forward, keeping pace beside you. “I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the mage uprising - I saw firsthand the danger it posed. Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause. Now, it appears we face something far worse. The Chantry lost control over both the Templars and the mages, and they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition can act where they cannot. Our followers could be a part of that! There’s so much we could - ah. Forgive me, I didn’t bring you here for a lecture.” 

His enthusiasm was infectious, his strange mix of deference and command was intriguing. “No… but if you have one prepared I’d love to hear it.”

He blinked in surprise, unable to stop the tinge of pink in his cheeks. “Another time, perhaps?”

You nod, trying to hide your grin. You’ll give him this one, but his squirming has you wanting to know more. “Tell me about the Templars, then. Why did you join them?”

His face lit up. Even though he had left the Order, it was clear where his heart lay. “I could think of no better calling than to protect those in need. I used to beg the Templars at our local Chantry to teach me… At first, they merely humored me, but I must have showed promise - or, at least, a willingness to learn. The Knight-Captain spoke to my parents on my behalf. They agreed to send me for training. I was thirteen when I left home.”

“Thirteen? That’s still so young.”

“I wasn’t the youngest there, some are promised to the Order at infancy. Still, I didn’t take on full responsibilities until I was eighteen. The Order sees you trained and educated first. “

“Did you enjoy your training?”

“Oh, I wanted to learn _everything_. If I was giving my life to this, I was going to be the best Templar I could.” He laughed. “I wasn’t always a model student, though… Watching a candle burn down while reciting the Chant of Transfiguration wasn’t the most exciting task… I admit, my mind sometimes… wandered.”

You find yourself cautiously warming to the Commander, his unassuming nature and humility a curious counterpoint to your own stereotypes of Male Human Templar. It’s obvious as he talks about his past and his family that he believes in his cause, that he cares for his family, that he didn’t let his past experiences in Kirkwall color his opinion of all mages.

It was, however, _dangerously_ easy to make him turn a fascinating shade of red, something you couldn’t help but poke at whenever the opportunity presented itself. Mischievously, you had to ask. “Do Templars take... vows? ‘I swear to the Maker to watch all the mages,’ that sort of thing?”

Innocent Cullen, he couldn’t see the trap in front of him. “Well, there’s a vigil first. You’re meant to be at peace during that time, but your life is about to change. When it’s over, you give yourself to a life of service. That’s when you’re given a philter - your first draught of lyrium. As a Templar, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgement. Our lives belong to the Maker and the faith we have chosen.”

“A life of service and sacrifice. Are Templars also expected to give up… physical temptations?”

There it was, that delightful blushing red. “Physical? Why - ah - why would you…? That’s not… expected… Templars can marry, though there are rules, of course, and the Order must grant permission… Some may choose to give up more to prove their devotion but it’s not - um… It’s not required.”

You school your face into a picture of perfect innocence. “Have you?”

His voice grows strangled as he turns even more painfully red. “Me? I… um… No, I’ve taken no such vows… _Maker’s breath_ , can we speak of something else?”

You decide to grant mercy on your poor Commander, afraid his heart would fail if he stuttered and stammered any further. Besides, your cabin has finally come back in view, and it’s _well_ past time you got that bath. “Thank you for the inspection, Commander.”

As you turn to go, he reaches out to stop you, stopping just short of touching your elbow. “Ah - Herald. Forgive my candor but… I know you must travel to Val Royeaux to address the Chantry soon. I know it’s foolish to apologize for the actions of people like Roderick, but… Not everyone believes like he does, and...”

You press a hand gently to his arm, touched by his concern. “I’ll be fine, Cullen. But… thank you. Try to keep the walls standing while we’re away?” 

“Maker, I hope so…” He bows his head quickly, not quite a bow, and turns to make his way back to the training field as you enter your cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I _sort_ of lied. We’re going to have a second intermission - we need to go pick up a certain Warden before we head on. Though, during the next full chapter, we’ll have the one and only Iron Bull! 
> 
> Stay wonderful, my lovelies!


	6. Intermission 3: Warden Blackwall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s going to be short. I have… plans for Blackwall - not with our Inquisitor, but plans, but I’m guilty of being excited to continuing on. But we have to get our Warden, we just… have to. 
> 
> I _like_ Blackwall, for the most part, I do, even though he’s a bit… stiff at times… For those of you who really enjoy him, I’m doing my best to give him as much justice as the others - he and you deserve it! 
> 
> Still....don’t judge the Duchess. Have a cookie instead. Take the story progress for what it is.

Refugees from the Hinterlands are still filtering in, horsemaster Dennett has sent word that the first of his stock should be arriving shortly, the Inquisition is moving slowly but inexorably forward. Leliana has a concern, though, one that the others dismiss, but you listen to. Anything that… _concerns_ someone as quietly terrifying as the Spymaster is something you feel you should address.

For now, it’s the lack of Grey Wardens. Sure, they’ve always been reclusive, but _something_ is happening, and with the big question of who killed the Divine, well… you agree, the timing is suspicious. Beyond that, having the Wardens behind you would lend a legitimacy to the Inquisition that few could ignore, that could finally get you the aid you need in closing the Breach. 

One has come to her attention, a Warden Blackwall traveling in the Hinterlands. So far, he’s the only one her scouts have been able to track down. It might not be much, but you promise to check it out. Cassandra and Solas prepare to join you - Varric is busy with rumors of an author copying his work, and is handling that with Leliana - and you make your way back, looking forward to it about as much as anyone would suspect, given your recent journey there, but at least you’ll be able to check on the building progress you left with the Inquisition forces.

~~~

It’s different now that the stability of the Inquisition has settled the region. There are significantly fewer bandits, people are beginning to rebuild their homes and lives… Hands raise in greeting as you pass through, recognizing the insignia of the Inquisition on your clothing. Soldiers keep regular patrol, guarding new watchtowers and aiding where they can - you had told Cullen of your plan to use the soldiers to help refugees, to be seen doing more than simply fighting. He wholeheartedly agreed, and was steadily sending them requisitions they could work to help fill and jobs that consisted more of protecting than killing. You don’t linger, though - they have things under control, and you _really_ don’t want to spend another three weeks parading through the Hinterlands...

Warden Blackwall is further south, in a slightly less settled region of the Hinterlands still the home to a few well-armed bandit group. You hear him before you see him, shouting orders to “conscripts.” You - ah - _smell_ him not long after. You’re not really in a position to judge, you know how easily the road wears on a person, but still.

Coming to the edge of a lake, you find a burly man who can be none other than Blackwall, along with his conscripts - three boys probably not even old enough to shave. They stand before him, holding swords and haphazardly outfitted in armor clearly intended for much… _bulkier_ humans. They look as afraid of him and the weapons they’re holding as they do of the signs of bandits around them. _Blackwall_ is certainly aptly named, he’s roughly the size of a brick tower and the wiry, bristled mass of black hair makes you wonder if he and Varric shared some… distant relation.

Cassandra snorts at the sight in front of you, and you have to agree - best to step in before the boys get themselves killed. You have no idea what possessed the Warden to conscript them, but then you’ve never much agreed with “conscription” in the first place.

“Blackwall? Warden Blackwall?” You lift your unarmed hands as you approach, to show that you’re not a threat.

He whirls towards you, storming forward, towering over you. Cassandra draws her sword in a blink and Solas lifts his staff, Fade-magic already beginning to swirl, but you stand firm, gesturing for them to hold. “You’re not… How do you know my name? Who sent…”

Blackwall lifts his shield without his gaze ever leaving yours, and the solid thunk of an arrow lodging deep into the wood cuts everyone off. The bandits are back. “That’s it. Help or get out - we’re dealing with these idiots first!” Just as quickly as he arrived, he turns away, charging with sword raised to face the new threat.

You motion to Solas, who flings a barrier around the untrained boys, before turning to face the bandits yourself, fire pouring from your staff and into the unsuspecting attackers. Conscripts or not, the Inquisition was _definitely_ against bandits.

You have to admit, Blackwall fights like a madman - utterly ruthless with his swings. He and Cassandra make a terrifying pair, whirling dervishes of death and destruction to any who came within reach of sword and shield. Between him and the three of you, the bandits are easily routed with no harm come to the untried village boys, but with just enough “action” that the boys would be able to earn a few goodwill drinks at any halfway decent tavern. 

As the last bandit falls, Blackwall drops his sword point-down into the dirt, shaking his head in disgust. “Sorry bastards.” He turns back to his “conscripts.” “Good work, even if this shouldn’t have happened. They could’ve - well. Thieves are made, not born. Take back what they stole, return to your families. You’ve saved yourselves.”

As he speaks, you find yourself adjusting your opinion of the burly human. The boys hurriedly gather up their supplies and leave. You’re confident they’ll make it back okay - there’s a small outfit of soldiers just a few hills over who should see them safely back to the village. But back to the problem at hand… Blackwall makes his way over to you, much less threatening now that the bandits are handled. “You. You’re no farmer. How do you know my name? Who are you?”

You nod to him, a very slight bow of just your head and shoulders. “I’m an agent of the Inquisition. We’re investigating the disappearance of the Wardens and if it has any connection to the death of the Divine.”

“Maker’s balls, the Wardens and the Divine? That can’t - no, you’re asking, so you don’t really know.” 

Well that’s… a new one, an oath you haven’t heard before. You do your best to still your reaction - no need to blush like Cullen, and soldiers often say… unusual things… though the thought of Cullen’s stammers doesn’t help your coloring as you can’t help but imagine the splutters that would come out of _him_ hearing such an oath... You quickly gesture for him to continue, before that line of thinking can progress much further. 

“First off. I didn’t know they disappeared, but we do that, right? No more Blight, job done. Wardens are the first thing forgotten. But one thing I’ll tell you - no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t political. As to where they are… I haven’t seen any other Wardens for months. I’ve been traveling alone, recruiting. Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need, who we need. These idiots forced this fight, so I ‘conscripted’ their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time, they won’t need me. Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are.”

Well, you can approve of his intent, even if you find his methods a bit questionable. Cassandra is almost _beaming_ with approval, though you can feel the slight… contempt coming from the direction of Solas over your other shoulder. “It’s been a pleasure, Warden, but I’m afraid this hasn’t been as helpful as we wished. Thank you for your time.”

As you turn to walk away, Blackwall calls back out. “Inquisition… agent, did you say? Hold a moment…” He hurries back to you as you stop. “The Divine is dead, the sky is torn… Events like these, thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you’re trying to put this right… Maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me. Being a Warden means something to a lot of people. If the treaties I bring can help, well… I’m no expert in fighting demons from the sky, but who is?”

You smile, and extend your hand. You’re not sure what help a Warden could be beyond the dignity of his station, but you’ve never been one to turn down aid and now that you’ve seen the man fight, well.. “Warden Blackwall… the Inquisition accepts your offer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Now, quick - off to the Chargers!


	7. Chapter 4: Storm Coast/The Captain of the Chargers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE FINALLY MEET THE IRON BULL! Our trio of eventual lovers is now complete! 
> 
> Fun fact: The Storm Coast is where I started to fall in love with this game, my very first playthrough. Yes, the people were epic, the Hinterlands were a ton of fun, but the _imagery_ on the Coast… Then, once I hit the Emerald Graves, I was hooked, line and sinker. Next time you turn it on, take a moment to re-appreciate just how stunningly _beautiful_ some of these places are. 
> 
> If you’ve played through getting Iron Bull and seeing the Storm Coast, you’re clear of spoilers, obviously. Though, to be on the safe side, go ahead and make sure you’re through Val Royeaux, as that’s where we’re heading soon enough.

Josephine is still making progress on the Orlesian nobles, hoping to smooth the way when you entered Val Royeaux to address the Chantry, so you’re doing what you can to help the Inquisition. For the most part it just involves filling requisition orders and closing rifts, nothing terribly exciting or noteworthy. 

With the growing talk of the Inquisition, however, comes new allies. Some you seek out. Others come to you. Such is the case with a Cremisius Aclassi, a Tevinter mercenary from a company called the Bull’s Chargers. A Qunari (“The big bastards with the horns,” Cremisius so eloquently described) named Iron Bull has a proposition, and is waiting by the ocean in the Storm Coast for you to meet him.

If that wasn’t enough, Scout Harding has sent word that a band of Inquisition soldiers in the area have gone missing, taken by bandits demanding to meet the Herald of Andraste. Nothing for it then - you send word to make preparations to head out. 

~~~

Blackwall comes to find you in your cabin, knocking politely. Since arriving from the Hinterlands he’s gone out of his way to fit in with the Inquisition, working out use of the Warden treaties with Josephine, training recruits with Cullen, helping Harritt in the forge. Given a purpose, he’s thrown himself into it admirably, and you have to admit he’s grown on you despite your initial misgivings. He also cleaned up quite nicely with access to regular amenities. His beard was styled and combed, his leathers showing his regal bearing. He wouldn’t turn _your_ head - all that hair still made you _slightly_ uncomfortable - but you’d overheard more than one dreamy sigh from women taking an unusual interest in the stables since he’d arrived. It’s obvious he’s been alone for quite some time however - even _Cassandra_ could give him lessons in tact, which was saying something. The fact that you were an Elf surprised him enough that he came right out and asked you about it - which you supposed was better than “knife ear,” but still.

Now, though, he’s obviously uncomfortable, shifting and half-pacing once you admit him, gazing out the window and tugging at his vest.

“Something I can help you with, Warden Blackwall?”

“I heard you were setting out for the Storm Coast. I know you’re busy with the Inquisition and all, but... There are some signs of the Wardens passing through. It would… mean a great deal to me to accompany you and retrieve those items.”

You pause to consider what he’s asking. You tried to stick with a smaller company, for speed and ease of travel. While you’ve grown comfortable with the others, you had yet to travel much with the Warden. Still, he was _asking_ , so it was obviously important to him. Besides, having two soldiers as fierce as Blackwall and Cassandra when you faced off with both bandits and a Qunari mercenary band, well… “It will be good to have you, Blackwall,” you agree with a smile. 

Of course, that means you’ll probably have to leave someone behind... As Blackwall bids farewell and heads to his place in the stables to pack, you consider your options. Varric would be good to have along - he and Cassandra had most recently been through the Storm Coast, coming by ship from Kirkwall. There was a narrowing of the water before the Waking Sea met the ocean, that’s where you’d come through yourself, not being much for water-travel. 

That only left Solas, and as much as you hated leaving the mage behind, you couldn’t imagine him or his books happy in a place known for its dreary weather. Nothing for it, you make your way towards the eastern side of Haven, where Solas is standing in front of his cabin, studying the Breach as he so often does. 

He notices as you approach, turning to face you with a smile. “How may I be of service?”

You find yourself… uncharacteristically nervous. You respect him, his magic and intelligence, greatly - _and that’s all, of course_ , no other reason - and you don’t want to offend him by not taking him along. 

No - by the Maker or any of the Pantheon listening - you are the _Herald_ and you _survived the Breach_ and you could _do this too_ … with a deep breath, you begin. “Solas, I.. um -”

You can hear the laughter in his voice as he lifts a hand to stop you. “Be at peace, Lethallan. I know what you’re here to ask, and I don’t mind. As it is, Minaeve has requested my help on some of her research into the demons, so my place is currently better suited here.”

You are _absolutely_ not pouting over his willingness to let you squirm, but you’re glad there are no ruffled feathers to soothe. “Thank you, Solas.”

The soft smile doesn’t leave him as he looks you over. “Of course. Just… be careful. The bandits there have grown bold, as of late.”

Warmth fills your chest as you take your leave, though Varric’s quip about a skip in your step as you pass his tent is _completely_ untrue. _Completely_.

~~~

The Storm Coast is… aptly named. The dampness immediately soaks you through; even the customarily upkept Cassandra is looking somewhat bedraggled, her short hair left slick to her skin. At least the furry mats that Blackwall and Varric carry hold _some_ purpose - the water beads there, instead of soaking it down, though the _second_ one of them goes to wring it out that’ll be it, you’ll be done and gone, Inquisition and Breach and demons be damned. 

The ocean is _stunning_ though - you’ve never been comfortable with water travel, as you’ve experienced so very little of it, but the steady pulsing rhythm of the waves beats into your skin, both calming and thrilling. There’s _power_ in those waves - a deadly power, if the corpses of ships lost to the shore are anything to go by.

It’s not far from the coastline that you hear the sounds of battle, and you pick up your pace. There, amidst the wreckage, fight the bandits and what has to be the Iron Bull. There’s no mistaking him - big horned bastard indeed. His distinct _lack_ of armor makes you incredibly uncomfortable, _you_ certainly wouldn’t be so nonchalant about fighting shirtless amongst angry humans who obviously want you dead, _especially_ if you were already covered in scars and missing an eye. But he seems eager for the fight, his broad axe cutting huge swathes out of the bandits with each mighty swing.

You go to help, raising your staff, Cassandra and Blackwall charging forward while Varric takes higher ground for his shots - but before you can truly enter the fight, it’s over, the mercenaries obviously having it under control.

Iron Bull calls out to Cremisius - Krem - telling him to break out the casks, before approaching you. Up close, he’s… large, almost numbingly so. To be fair, you were slight compared to _many_ people you encountered, but even stretching up you’d barely reach his shoulder, and - 

No. Not going there. 

“So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

“Iron Bull, I presume?” You follow him to a large rock, pausing beside him as he sits. You’re not… quite prepared to sit beside him, as his sitting brought his face even with yours, though neither Blackwall nor Varric share the same compulsion, finding as dry a seat as they can among the rocks.

“Yeah… the horns usually give it away. I assume you remember my lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi?”

You nod to the man who has come up beside you, who greets you before turning to his captain. “Throat-cutters are done, Chief.”

“Already? Have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away - no offense, Krem.”

A husky laugh meets that, as the mercenary shrugs. “None taken. At least a bastard knows who his mother is - puts him one up on you Qunari, right?”

Iron Bull waves him off, laughing, before turning back to you. “So, you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it… and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

You raise an eyebrow. “How much is this going to cost me, exactly?”

“Wouldn’t cost you anything personally… unless you wanted to buy drinks later.” A roguish wink makes your ears blush, just a little. “Your ambassador - what’s her name - Josephine? We’d go through her, get the payments set up. The gold will take care of itself, don’t worry about that. All that matters is we’re worth it.”

You look around at the mercenary group, searching the bodies of the slain bandits, moving expediently, clearly trained and familiar with battle tasks. “The Chargers seem like an excellent company.”

“They are - but you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting _me_. You need a frontline bodyguard? I’m your man. Whatever it is - demons, dragons - the bigger the better. And there’s one other thing… might be useful, might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“Um… no?”

“They’re a Qunari organisation. Spies, mostly. That’s them. Or, well. _Us_. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. But I also _get_ reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

You can’t help being a bit taken aback with how… open and honest about the whole thing he was being. “You’re a Qunari spy, and you just… told me?”

“Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it’s bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So _whatever_ I am… I’m on your side.”

“Well yes, but… you still could have hidden what you are.”

He laughed at that. “From something called the _Inquisition_? I’d’ve been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me. I’ll send enough back to keep my superiors happy, nothing that’ll compromise your operations. The Qunari want to know if they should launch an invasion to keep the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone.”

It sounded like a good deal - almost _too_ good, but someone looking to help seal the Breach instead of fighting you over it? It’s not like anyone else was looking to throw in. “Alright - but run your reports through Leliana. But, if this turns out to be a trick, Cassandra will eat you alive.”

That brought another laugh, but it was clear he regarded the warrior with respect. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Krem!” He turned to shout at his lieutenant, his sudden booming making you flinch just a bit. “Tell the men to finish drinking on the road - the Chargers just got hired!” A meaty hand clapped you on the shoulder, enough to sting but not hurt. “We’ll meet you back at Haven, Boss.”

Varric chuckled as he watched the big man herd up his crew. “Boss… I like that. A Qunari spy. Well, at least he’s _interesting_ …”

You tune out as Cassandra starts berating Varric over whatever novel description he’s planning, watching the direction the mercenaries were headed. Interesting indeed. 

Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana were going to _love_ this…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! 
> 
> Now, I know I’m going a _little_ crazy with the intermissions lately, but there’s a lot of side stuff I want to get out of the way. There’ll be another two before the next full chapter - it won’t always be like that, sometimes we might not even have _any_ \- but it is what it is!
> 
> Stay lovely, my dears!


	8. Intermission 4: A Strange Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first intermission that doesn’t feature you. Let our companions have a moment in the spotlight, your turn will come soon enough.

Varric had decided that this whole Inquisition thing would make a _wonderful_ topic for his next book, assuming he lived through it of course - a fact that, the young elvhen Herald was quick to remind him, was in question if he kept pestering the Seeker. It wasn’t _his_ fault the constant rain made her grumpier than usual, and if he was risking his neck for the _entire world_ , well, what would it matter if he got something out of it later? 

Of course, as the small, bedraggled party waited out yet another storm, huddled around a fire in a damp cave, he decided that discretion was _definitely_ the better part of valor where Cassandra and close quarters were concerned, and decided to corner Blackwall instead.

“So, Hero. How do you like being described? As ‘grizzled?’ Or ‘masculine’?”

Blackwall was obviously trying his hardest not to encourage the dwarf. “Do I really have a choice?”

“No, I was just being polite. Going with ‘grizzled,’ then. Now. Let’s talk about your dark and troubled past.”

“...excuse me?” Incredulous warning was heavy in the Warden’s voice. Cassandra stiffened, even Lavellan began to look uncomfortable. Varric continued on blithely, not seeing - or, more accurately, _choosing_ not to see - the growing strain.

“You have one, of course. Someone dear to you? Someone you failed to save? Or a grave error in judgement, causing too many deaths? I’ve known a couple of people like that. Oh - maybe betrayal! That’s always good!”

“No.” The single word, growled with intense ferocity, took everyone by surprise.

“You’ve got to give me _something_...”

“No, I don’t. This conversation is over.” Blackwall stood, storming away from the fire and toward the mouth of the cave. Terse silence followed his departure, before Cassandra stood, brushing off her armor and following after the Warden, pausing only to growl a warning at Varric that made him blanch and chuckle nervously as she walked away. 

The Herald regarded him, reproach in her gaze. “You don’t normally push that far, Varric… You know better than that.”

Varric rubbed his chin, considering. “Yeah… He reminds me of someone I knew, once. Dedicated to a fault, particularly sullen and stabby… I can’t decide if he’d get along admirably with Sebastian or if they’d hate each other on principle alone. _You_ , on the other hand…”

~~~

Cassandra followed behind Blackwall, slowing as she approached the cave mouth he was standing watch as. As much as the dwarf irritated her, she _understood_ him - they’d spent long enough together in Kirkwall that most of his barbs lacked bite, and she knew he didn’t _really_ intend harm. For someone like the Warden - used to being alone, set in an Order known for a hard life - it would be hard to brush aside his caustic, casual flippancy. 

Not that she was _checking_ on him or anything, she wasn’t _worried_ , she merely wanted the fighting men in her command to be at their best. He was impressive in the field, and she wanted to be sure he was focused enough to maintain his edge.

Blackwall was leaning against the cave mouth on an upraised arm, the dampness from the rain causing his wiry beard to frizz and curl. He was watching the clouds and didn’t react to her presence, though she knew he noticed her arrival. Silently, she leaned against the other side of the entrance, seeking the right words to start casual conversation. _This_ she wasn’t good at - not like Josie, who could charm anyone with just a sentence or two, or even Lavellan, who didn’t speak often but approached conversation with confidence and conviction. The only “common ground” she knew of was their battle experience… so that’s what she’d go with.

“I am… very pleased you joined us, Warden Blackwall. We need strong, righteous warriors now more than ever.”

“The honor is mine, Lady Seeker, but righteous? That is high praise indeed. Many Wardens have hardly lived righteous lives.”

“True, yet you give yourself to an order that would die to do protect others. That is honorable. It is never too late to do better, to be more than what you are.”

A smile softened the Warden’s hard features. “That’s the hope…”

They passed a moment in a comfortable silence, listening to the dripping rain and the echoes of the conversation back at the fire (Varric was starting to explain… was that the rules to Diamondback? _Maker_ but she would strangle that dwarf…) before Blackwall spoke again. “I heard Varric talking earlier. You… had a brother, in Nevarra?”

Cassandra shifted. Speaking of her brother still brought pain, though she supposed the Warden could understand that. “I did. I still miss him sometimes.”

Blackwall’s eyes were distant, not seeing the ocean before them. “I had a sister. A younger sister. She died when I was very little. I often think about what she’d be like now, had she lived…”

“Much like her brother, I would expect.”

A chuckle rumbled out of Blackwall. “Maker, I wouldn’t wish _that_ on her. All this hair?” He lifted a hand to tug at his beard, beaded with water. 

Cassandra couldn’t help laughing with him - between Blackwall and Varric, the amount of hair was… well, noticeable to be remarked upon, definitely, or at least studied with morbid fascination in the case of the Herald - Cassandra herself didn’t mind, the men of Nevarra weren’t known for their baldness. Still, she was confident her point had been made. His past was his past, and anyone honorable enough to be worthy of the Wardens and to join with the Inquisition, well… She was certain his sister was proud, waiting with the Maker and watching over her brother. 

She nodded firmly, once, and opened her mouth to say -

Varric’s voice filtered back to her through the cave. “Well, I _did_ start this one serial, Swords and Shields - utter drivel, have you heard of it? Ah, well -”

A strangled noise escaped her as she turned to hurry back to the fire before he could do much more damage. The dwarf was a _horrible_ influence, Maker knew; she was the _Herald_ , the _voice of Andraste_ …

“Varric!” Her angry cry echoed through the cave and out over the constant waves, the booming laugh from Blackwall following shortly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. Cassandra and Blackwall. 
> 
> Cassandra is deep faith and selfless honor. Blackwall is deep conviction and trying to do what’s right. They need each other. Also, if you’ve played for very long… well. Let’s just say that future events will be… interesting? 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, my lovelies!


	9. Intermission 5: A Gift for a Herald

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is the one I’ve been looking forward to, the one I’ve been super excited to write. It features you again, but _not_ from your POV - there are others involved, thoughts that need to be heard that _aren’t_ yours, people watching… 
> 
> Settle in, darlings! It’s time for a ride!

The mounts from horsemaster Dennett were arriving, and for the people of the Inquisition it was cause for some celebration. The horses were stunning, of various stock, sturdy and firm and surefooted over the mountain terrain, suited both for battle and transportation, for soldiers and for refugees. The Herald stood watch over the incoming steeds, not _entirely_ sure why she was there. Josephine had said something about the rise in morale, but she didn’t _quite_ trust the amused glances the ambassador and Leliana kept sharing, _especially_ when the Commander joined them, a sheepish grin on his face. They were Up To Something, no question, though if Cullen was involved it probably wouldn’t be _painful_ , at least... 

A commotion drew her attention, down among the arriving horses, and at the center of it - all thoughts of the unruly advisors quickly fled. There, drawn behind the horses, was the giant antlers of an absolutely _stunning_ red hart. She gasped in delight before scrambling down the banks to get a closer look. There were laughing calls for her to be careful as she almost collided with Iron Bull, who groaned with mock indignation as his lieutenant said something about his horns no longer being adequate enough.

To Lavellan, none of it mattered. Up close, the hart was even more incredible. Easily eighteen hands, he towered over his handlers. He was unquestionably intelligent, his dark eyes filled with understanding and quiet strength. It was clear by his demeanor that he was being led because he _chose_ to be, he _allowed_ it. Breathless in awe and excitement, she lifted a hand to him, and he lowered his face to gently nose at her palm. She was _instantly_ in love - he was _glorious_ , untamed and free, unquestionably powerful. 

The sound of a throat clearing caused her to turn around, seeing the blush of the Commander as he ran a hand through his curls. “So… Dennett send word that he’d been in contact with some of the Ferelden Clans, and saw this specimen. We thought, being the Herald and all, you deserved a mount that… oh…” His face froze as he paused for a moment, considering how it must look, them finding a hart for their elven herald. “I hope I didn’t - I mean… uh, I didn’t mean to _presume_ , I just… Oh _Maker_...” 

He choked to a stop as he suddenly was engulfed in enthusiastic elf. The Herald was grinning, happier than he’d seen her since this entire mess with the Breach began. “This was _your_ doing? That’s what you were up to? He’s mine? Oh _thank_ you, Cullen!”

“Oh… it’s, uh - nothing…” he muttered, but her attention - and arms - were already back to the hart. 

He was jostled aside by the large Qunari. “Well don’t just _stand_ there, Boss! Give him a ride!” Iron Bull’s large hands wrapped around her waist and lifted her up and onto the hart, ignoring her startled shriek - which quickly changed to laughter anyway as the great creature stirred and pranced beneath her, eager to run - something she was _more_ than willing for him to do. A squeeze of her knees to his broad chest and they were off, bounding through the snow in great strides.

Elf and hart rode, wild and free, her hair whipping as he galloped and jumped around and over the great frozen lake that spanned the far edge of Haven. They moved fluidly, as one - it was hardly her first time on hartback, given her upbringing, but he moved like the wind, at her slightest suggestion, almost as if joined with a thought. 

~~~

A broad hand clapped Cullen on the shoulder, making him wince and stagger, briefly pulling his attention away from the sight before him. “You did good, Cullen,” Iron Bull rumbled, his shrewd gaze weighing as he watched the wild ride, giving away none of his thoughts. Privately, Cullen had to agree, though he was mentally torn between her current flowing ride and the feel of her joyfully pressed against him. If he’d known… _Maker_. He’d find another hart - he’d find a _thousand_ harts - for that reaction again. He felt his cheeks redden - that damned blush - but was hopelessly drawn along by her laughter and the smooth roll of her hips - she was the _Herald_ for the Maker’s sake! - as she effortlessly balanced on the large creature, her strong legs wrapped around its barreled chest…

_No. Stop that right now._ The knowing grin Leliana flashed his way covered him like cold water as he closed his eyes with a groan. 

~~~

Another set of eyes - always watching, always studying - watched the girl and her mount. She was… unexpected, Dalish of all things, still just a _child_ , but eager to understand the world around her. She didn’t flinch from his talk of the past, didn’t hold as firmly to the silly superstitions of her people… She glided through the world around her, unknowingly affecting all she came in contact with. A puzzle, an enigma, one that brought with it an unexpected pang of loss while igniting his constant need to _know_ , to _understand_...

No. She was a distraction, nothing more. A means to an end. It would be kinder in the long run to end this foolish fancy before it ever began…

_Kind_ was not something he was often accused of being, however, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop his watchful gaze following her as she laughed and rode and brought light to those around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then!
> 
> If you’re wondering, the hart came from the DLC - one of the specialty mounts. I just… couldn’t say no. Your Duchess is weak-willed, darlings, you’ll have to forgive me.
> 
> I think we’ve done what we can - it’s time to face the Chantry in Val Royeaux!   
> Certainly hope you’ve enjoyed the journey thus far, my lovelies!  
> Have some cookies, or leave some cookies, but always stay wonderful!


	10. Chapter 5: Val Royeaux/The Threat Remains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s time, darlings!  
> Spoilers through The Threat Remains, but not yet through the ally quests.

Your advisors are still arguing back and forth over whether to approach the mages or the Templars when the “summons” - there really was no other word for it - from the Chantry in Val Royeaux came. You knew this was coming, you’d been doing your best to prepare for it, and it would provide the final push towards gathering allies against the Breach.

Cullen, it seemed, was having second thoughts.

“It wouldn’t be a _bad_ idea for the Herald to be the one to address the Chantry…” Josephine flipped uncertainly through the missives on her board. 

“You _can’t_ be serious!”

“Mother Giselle isn’t wrong - the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion.”

“And we should just _ignore_ the danger to the Herald?”

Leliana’s smooth voice cut over them both. “Let’s ask her.”

You appreciated Cullen’s concern - it was sweet, really - but you were the source of the opinion that united the Chantry in the first place. It was your _duty_ to go, to not would look too much like hiding, like being afraid. However, you also somewhat agreed - it was important, sure, but you sincerely doubted it would change anything. “ _I’m_ more concerned this won’t actually solve any problems.”

Cullen didn’t take the bait of your attempt at humor, and leapt on the point as fiercely as one of his Ferelden mabari. “ _I agree_. Not only does it present needless danger, it just lends credence to the idea that we should care what the Chantry says.”

That’s… not _quite_ where you were going with that, but before you can reply Cassandra steps forward. “I will go with her.”

“But _why_? This is nothing but a-”

“What choice do we _have_ , Cullen? Right now we can’t approach _anyone_ for help with the Breach. Use what influence we have to call the clerics together and we will see this through. We _have_ to.”

Silence followed Cassandra’s speech, but the advisors couldn’t fault her logic. They set out to do what needed to be done, sending missives, preparing orders…

As you made your way out of the war room and towards your cabin, Cullen excused himself and hurried after you. “Herald, I…” The tension radiated off of him, before he squared his shoulders and pushed forward. “I know I don’t normally accompany you, but this time - I should come. If my position or influence as a former knight-captain can protect you in any way I should be _there_ , beside you. I should-”

You held up a hand to stop him, a smile playing over your lips. You _weren’t_ helpless, you and your companions were starting to grow into quite the fighting force. More than that, you didn’t _really_ expect the Chantry to seize you and attempt a rout in the gilded streets of Val Royeaux - there would probably be shouting and a good deal of name-calling and slurs, but none of that he could protect you from even if you _did_ need it. You didn’t want to upset him, though, and you didn’t want to push him away - you’d grown to enjoy his blushes and the teasing flirtation between you, you were starting to see the former Templar as a _friend_ , a fact which - quite frankly - shocked you just a bit, as both an elf and a mage. 

“Cullen… I appreciate it, I do. But you’re needed _here_. Even assuming something happens, _not_ -” you raise your voice to cut off his protest before continuing - “that I think it will, but just in case. The Inquisition _needs_ you, Commander. Needs you here, protecting Haven. Far more than I would in Val Royeaux, despite how much I would... _enjoy_ the company.”

The light flush was what you were after, and he smiles wryly before closing his eyes and nodding in defeat. “I understand. Just… Be careful. Please. The Inquisition needs its _Herald_ , too.” He grips your arm for a moment before returning to his lieutenants, seeing to preparations for your journey.

~~~

You make an… interesting sight, coming through the statue-lined walkways of Val Royeaux. Varric and Cassandra keep pace with you while Iron Bull keeps flank, like a mountain at your back. Honestly, you can’t blame the people for looking as frightened as they do - _you_ don’t find yourself that scary, obviously, but you were more than glad that your companions were on your side - frankly, they could be _terrifying_. Well, maybe not Varric as much, but you’d seen the poisons he kept for his crossbow bolts and the particular glee he took in using them. As one masked noblewoman spots you, she gasps and flees in the other direction. Varric grunts from beside you. “Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they know who we are.”

“Your skills of observation _never_ cease to amaze me, Varric.”

You choke back a laugh as a runner approaches you and kneels - one of Leliana’s people. “Report.”

“My Lady Herald. The Chantry Mothers await you - but so do a great many Templars.” 

Well… that’s concerning. Cassandra seems to agree. “There are _Templars_ here?”

“Yes, Seeker. People seem to think the Templars will protect them from… from the Inquisition.” It was clear from the quick, nervous dart of her eyes in your direction that “the Inquisition” wasn’t what the people were afraid of, and wasn’t what the scout had intended to say. “They’re gathering on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the Templars intend to meet you.”

“Only one thing to do then.” You dismiss the scout to return to Haven with the news and stride forward, your head held high, disgust and anger warring between you, the judgemental masked stares and whispers beginning to grate on your nerves. Did they not _notice_ the big hole in the sky that all the demons fell out of? Did this big, golden shemlen city blind them _that_ much?

The Chantry Mothers were standing on a raised dais, the crowd thick around them, shouting down about the heretical Inquisition as you pushed your way forward, the glares your way filled with loathing fuelled by the Chantry’s words. You did your best to maintain your composure - losing your temper here would _not_ be a safe thing, and you’d survived _this_ long by not being needlessly unsafe - but you couldn’t stop the angry flush that crept across your cheekbones and into your ears. 

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me! Together we mourn our Divine, her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more!” An accusing finger flung out to mark you. “Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our Beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet! The Maker would send no _elf_ in our hour of need!” The triumphant shine of the Chantry Mother's eyes gloated, clearly expecting her strike to hit home, to show you as the beastly, mindless animal they so often saw you as.

You bite back an angry retort, noticing the crowd beginning to surge around you, but the hard growl of Bull behind you keeps them back. Cassandra gasps sharply at the open racism from the Chantry - supposed to view _all_ as equal under the Maker - but Varric simply regards you with understanding, his calmness helping to maintain your own. 

She can hurl all the slurs she wants - you kept the Breach from swallowing everyone, you could _do this_. You lift your voice to flow over the crowd. “You say I am the enemy, but the Breach in the sky is our _true_ enemy. We must unite to stop it.”

Cassandra’s voice lifts to join yours. “It’s true. The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it’s too late!”

“It is _already_ too late,” comes the scornful reply, before the Mother turns to the assembled Templars and gestures for them to approach. “The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this “Inquisition” and the people will be safe once more!”

The Lord Seeker walks past the Mother, giving her a glance… before continuing past, without speaking, dismissing her. Behind him, one of his Knight-Captains approaches… and delivers a swift fist to the chin of the Mother, knocking her to the ground.

Well, they’re not attacking _you_ … but this _probably_ isn’t a good thing, even if the woman _did_ have it coming.

One of the Templars moves to help the fallen Mother, but the Lord Seeker stops him. “Still yourself. She is beneath us.” You can tell by his frown that he disagrees, but he holds fast, following the order.

You glare up at the Lord Seeker, your arms crossed defiantly. “Is that display supposed to impress me?”

“On the contrary - it wasn’t for _you_ at all.” Clearly not impressed, he turns to walk away.

Cassandra steps up. “Lord Seeker Lucius, it’s imperative that we speak with -”

“You will _not_ address me.”

The cold voice brings her up short. “Lord Seeker…?”

“Creating a heretical movement, setting up a _puppet_ as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed. You should _all_ be ashamed!” His voice rises to an angry shout. “The Templars failed _no one_ when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! _You_ are the ones who have failed! You would leash our righteous swords with fear and doubt! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is _mine_.” The Lord Seeker scoffs. “The Breach is indeed a threat, but _you_ certainly have no power to do anything about it.”

The Templar from before, the one who moved to help the Mother, stands beside him. “But Lord Seeker, what if she really was sent by the Maker? What if-”

Lucius sneers, but the Templar is answered by a Knight-Captain instead. “You are called to a higher purpose! Do _not_ question!”

Lucius directs his reply to you, instead. “ _I_ will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the void. We deserve recognition. Independence! You have shown me _nothing_ , and the Inquisition… _less_ than nothing. Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!” He turns on his heel and strides away, the Templars following him. The one questioning shoots you an apologetic look before turning to join his comrades.

Varric’s mouth twists in disgust. “ _Charming_ fellow, isn’t he?”

Cassandra is beyond shocked, finally finding her voice once more. “Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone _mad_?”

She’s the one who would know him best. “Do you think he can be reasoned with?” You didn’t personally think so, but you _needed_ the Templars.

She shook her head slowly, watching the departing armored backs. “I… hope so. If not him, _surely_ there are others in the Order who do not believe as he does. Either way… we should return to Haven and inform the others.”

~~~

The crowd has dispersed, the anger building towards you gone in the wake of the attack of the Templars. You plan on seeing what you can in Orlais, filling what requisitions you can and gathering anyone who will join you, but before you go far you’re approached by an elvhen woman, clearly a mage. “If I might have a moment of your time?”

Cassandra recognizes her instantly. “Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

Ah. “You’re the leader of the mage rebellion. Isn’t it… dangerous for you to be here?”

She smiled at your staff. “No more dangerous than for you. I heard of this gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes. If it’s help with the Breach you seek, perhaps my people are the wiser option.”

You’re not sure about _wiser_ , but definitely _friendlier_. “Does that mean the mages will help us?”

“We’re willing to discuss it with the Inquisition, at least. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe: come meet with the mages. An alliance could help both of us. I hope to see you there. Au revoir, my Lady Herald.”

As she leaves, you send the others to begin preparations for the return trip to Haven.

~~~

Safely back in Haven, you enter the Chantry and are immediately approached by the advisors. It’s clear they were waiting for you, none of them bother to deny it, the relief clear on their faces as they see you and Cassandra unharmed.

“It is good you’ve returned,” Josephine says, sighing as she approaches. “We heard of your encounter.”

Cassandra raises an eyebrow at her. “You heard?”

“My agents sent in the city sent word ahead, of course.” Leliana seems as calm and implacable as always, but you can see the tension in her eyes.

Cullen is torn between anger over his former Order and relief at seeing you unharmed. “It’s a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the Capital.” He leans forward, ignoring the surprised glances of his fellow advisors to address you. “Are _you_ okay?”

You grin wryly at him. “Fine, though perhaps we should have listened to your concerns a bit more closely before meeting with our accusers.” A blond eyebrow lifts in amusement - the closest he’d come to ‘I told you so.’ “But we had to do _something_ , and now we at least have an opportunity, and the opening we need to approach the mages and the Templars... perhaps.”

Cassandra is the one that voices the question on everyone’s mind. “Do we? Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”

Leliana answers, “True. He has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what? My reports have been… very odd.”

Despite their apparent insanity, Cullen still believes in his Order. “We _must_ look into it. I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.”

Josephine continued the old argument. “Or the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead.”

“You think the mage rebellion is more united? They could be ten times worse!”

“ _Enough_!” You didn’t often raise your voice, so the sharp anger as you interrupted them took everyone back in surprise. Raising your hand to your head, you rub your temples in frustration, the beginning of a headache beating at you. You’d dealt with insane Templars, rabid Chantry Mothers, racist humans, and a long trip to and from Val Royeaux. You were _exhausted_ and it was time to end this damn argument once and for all. “We tell this to everyone we try to ally with, but it means nothing if we don’t stand behind it. The Breach is our enemy - it _can_ and _will_ destroy us all if allowed to remain. _Every_ person of _every_ race and station is in danger. You want to approach the mages or the Templars? Fine - we’ll approach them both. The Inquisition is supposed to be a force that answers to no one but protects all. Well, this _stupid_ feud is putting _everyone_ at risk, so we will put an end to it!” Your chest is heaving as you finish and everyone is silent for a moment. You begin to worry that you overstepped your bounds and pushed a little too hard before the advisors begin to smile. 

“Yes, Herald. I have an idea for how we should approach the Templars - I will reach out to certain nobles that owe us favors. If the Lord Seeker is as focused on glory as he proclaimed to be in Val Royeaux, he would be unable to turn us away.” Josephine bobs her head towards you and you smile in gratitude. 

“I will send runners ahead to Redcliffe, to prepare the way and to let the mages know we will come to the table.” Leliana finishes. The three of them walk away, discussing tactics and options between them, and you _finally_ sag in relief.

Now if you could bring that same level of confidence to your potential allies, and everything would just work out _dandy_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s where we switch it up a bit, one of our few big canon deviations. The idea of choosing the mages OR the Templars just… didn’t sit right with me. There’s a _demon infested hole in the sky_ , are we really just going to pick one and hope for the best? The Inquisition is a force for order, and everybody’s just gonna have to fall in line and get with it.
> 
> Also, are we really supposed to assume that the troubles in the place we _didn’t_ pick are just going to vanish? Not even considering the actual events in the questline, the grand enchanter practically begged you to come, and the knight captain straight up DECKED A CHANTRY SISTER IN THE FACE. Are we going to pretend either of these things can just be ignored?
> 
> So come on along, my lovelies! Let’s play in our sandbox a bit!


	11. Intermission 6: New Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick aside to pick up the next two companions. Have to give Josie and Leliana a chance to work, right? ;)

You’re not back in Haven long when Josephine approaches you, practically vibrating in her excitement, the source of which has to be the letter in her hand. “Oh, Herald, I have the most _exciting_ news!”

_Her_ exciting and _your_ exciting tended to have rather drastically different definitions, but her bubbly enthusiasm was infectious. Secretly, you thought that was part of her secret weapon - no one could refuse that rich Antivan accent and sunny charm without promising her _something_. Whenever she found someone to ensnare, well… they were in for _quite_ a ride, and may Mythal bless their poor, doomed soul before her clever eyes found them.

The ‘exciting news’ turns out to be an invite for you - the Herald - to travel to the soiree of one Madame Vivienne du Fer at the home of Duke Bastien de Ghislain. You’re not personally familiar with the name, but from the excitement radiating off of your ambassador, you figure she’s someone of importance. And she is - a respected Court Mage and advisor to the Empress Celene. She’s asking to meet the Herald of the Inquisition, and perhaps offering some assistance. You’re not sure how she’ll view you - an elvhen non-circle mage - but you’ve made it a point this far to meet with anyone willing to help you, so you have to accept the invite…

...which becomes a _very_ concerning proposal once Josephine gets that glint in her eye and starts asking about clothing sizes.

You look down at your armor. You _like_ your armor - it’s broken in, it’s kind of shiny, it’s always in style in most places, it _protects you from new holes_ … “I figured I would… wear what I normally do?”

Josephine is too polite to truly be _shocked_ , you supposed, but it was a near thing. “ _Maker_ no, what would that say? Not that there is anything _wrong_ with your armor, of course, but the Inquisition must be able to send a message - we are as at home in the Orlesian Courts as we are on the battlefield!” And she blinked those expressive brown eyes at you, gushing about how _wondrous_ you would be… and so you found yourself meeting with a seamstress, questioning _all_ of your life choices. 

~~~

As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t hate it. The dress _was_ stunning, but more than that it allowed for movement. It was also made of the supple leather of certain light armors, so it still protected softer bits while looking… small and feminine and very much the elf you were, but it was just for an evening and it made Josephine happy and _dammit_ you looked pretty even if it pained you to admit. Josephine was just _brimming_ with pleasure - probably because she knew how handily she’d won - and _insisted_ you show the others before setting off back to Orlais. 

And that’s where you find yourself, all dressed up in front of the advisors and companions - fondly named the Herald’s Inner Circle by some of the pilgrims around Haven. There’s silence for a bit, and you can’t stop the embarrassed blush - you’re ready to call it and flee back into what you’re familiar with when Varric’s wolf whistle breaks through… followed immediately by the sound of Cassandra smacking the back of his head and his cries of ‘torture’ and ‘abuse,’ which breaks the tension and sets everyone laughing. 

Iron Bull nods appreciatively. “ _Damn_ fine, Boss,” comes his rumble, accompanied by a wink. Blackwall is doing his best to look anywhere _but_ you, saying he wasn’t much one to understand women’s fashion, but you seemed very… _fashionable_. 

Cullen surprises you. Sure, his customary blush is in place, but he’s drinking the sight of you in like cool water on a hot day, and you’re not really sure what to make of that. Almost shyly, you ask what he thinks, unable to bring your normal casual flirtation out to play. He simply smiles a moment, before adding, “I have no doubt, Herald, that you would sway _anyone_ to an alliance. We are lucky to have you.”

You’re… not sure how to respond to that, so you go with the safest option - you don’t. Instead, you search out the gaze of Solas, leaning against the Chantry wall, a part of the group while being distinctly separate. A strange smile is playing over his face - somewhere between trickster and homesickness, which you don’t quite understand - but it’s obvious he approves. 

Fortunately it’s _just one night_ \- so you’re comfortably back in your armor before too long at all, with Cassandra, Solas, and Blackwall joining you on the road back to Val Royeaux, the dress hidden away in one of the saddlebags.

~~~

Neither Solas nor Blackwall had been with you the last time you were here, so it was amusing to hear their comments on the broad, statue-filled walkways.

“Val Royeaux, huh? I remember the first time I visited it, some thirty years ago. The market was not half as large, without the garish statues. And far fewer stands selling those ridiculous frilly cakes.” Blackwall stroked his beard as he spoke, studying the market crowd with a practiced Warden’s eye.

Solas seems… far more comfortable than you would have expected, given his life as a travelling apostate. Far more comfortable than _you_ were, certainly. “The Val Royeaux Market was once nothing but tents of oiled leather and mud, filled with ragged humans selling strings of beads made of bone.”

Blackwall turns to the elf in surprise. “You saw this in the Fade?”

“Yes. I left that memory quickly. The _smell_ …” His nose wrinkles at the memory, which makes you - _definitely not giggle_ \- laugh in response.

“Must have been _ages_ ago.”

“Oh yes. It’s much better now - I _enjoy_ the frilly cakes.”

You can’t blame him - they look like miniature works of art, beautiful and delicious. You make a note to purchase a few when you got a chance - partially for Solas back at Haven, but also for Josephine and Leliana, who would probably enjoy a taste of home.

The statues in question seem to have been… ‘updated,’ by someone with a certain _flair_ , adding scrawled pictures and descriptions to the plaques. It’s childish, but amusing - _especially_ after your less-than-stellar welcome the last time you were here.

You put it off as long as you can, but once it becomes pressing you send your companions off to their various tasks as you prepare for yours - the meeting of Vivienne du Fer.

~~~

The house of Ghislain is incredibly opulent… and you can’t help but feel like you stick out like a sore thumb, especially amongst all the masked nobles gossiping away. Still, you hold your head high as a servant announces you - you’re representing the Inquisition, and you plan on doing Josephine _proud_.

At the announcement of “Madame Lavellan of the Inquisition,” every eye turns to you, and your skin prickles as you imagine the gossip ramping up. You’re fortunately not left to flounder long, though - a man and woman step forward to catch you in their conversation. At least, that’s what you’re _assuming_ , their masks manage to cover almost their _entire_ face, leaving you to wonder just _how_ they manage to breathe, _let alone_ identify each other.

“A pleasure, madame. We so rarely have a chance to meet anyone new. It’s always the same old crowd at these parties.” The man’s voice is cultured and _painfully_ Orlesian. “So, are you a guest of Madame du Fer? Or are you here for Duke Bastien?”

The woman beside him titters. “Are you here on business? I have heard the most _curious_ tales of you. I cannot imagine half of them are true.”

Now _you’re_ curious. “What have you heard of me?”

“They say that when the Veil opened, Andraste _herself_ delivered you from the Fade.”

_Ah_ , well then. “Some of those storytellers… may have exaggerated just a bit.”

“But only for the best effect! The Inquisition is a ripe subject for wild tales. You should certainly attend these parties more often!”

A voice filled with scornful amusement. “Ah, the _elf_. And the Inquisition! What a load of pig shit.”

You turn to watch a masked man descend the stairs, his cocky assurance clear from here. Your hands itched for your staff - you wouldn’t _kill_ him, probably, but it would serve him right to discover his breeches filled with irritable fire lizards. 

He’s not done, his voice pitched to echo around the chamber, everyone now openly staring as he comes to confront you. “Washed-up Sisters and crazed Seekers? No one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political _outcasts_ ,” a quick grimace at your ears, “to grab power.”

Your jaw is clenched, but you push the words forward anyway - Josephine better be _damn proud_ of you. “The Inquisition is working to restore peace and order to Thedas, and to find the one responsible for murdering Divine Justinia.”

“Ah, yes. Here comes the _outsider_ , restoring peace with an army. I’m sure they’re out scouring the hill for her murderer and peace to restore as we speak. We know your Inquisition for what it truly is. If you were a woman of _honor_ , you’d step outside and answer the charges…” he was close enough to drop his voice into a hiss that wouldn’t carry before adding, “but what does an _elf_ know of honor?”

Was this… _fool_ of a human challenging you to a duel? Did he _want_ to die?! Well, one answers a duel with hands, right? Certainly he wouldn’t mind if you ripped off his mask and _answered_ his duel with a swift fist to the nose… You step back, but before you can react, a chill whips through the air, centering around the man and freezing him in place.

You were impressed - it was a cleverly powerful magical working, showing a mage of high caliber. The mage in question was slowly descending the stairs, the picture of elegance. “My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my house… to my guests. You _know_ such rudeness is… intolerable.”

She is… stunning. Her dark skin was set off perfectly by the flowing white and silver gown, her mask seeming to _accentuate_ instead of hide in a way that most of the others missed by _leagues_. Her husky voice was filled with cool warning, though - directed entirely at the Marquis. You _almost_ felt sorry for him… _almost_.

His frightened eyes follow her as she glides around him. “Madame Vivienne... I humbly beg your pardon!”

“You _should_. Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” She turns to you. “My lady, you are the wounded party in this _unfortunate_ affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

You’re tempted for a moment to let her shatter his frozen body into tiny shards, but… you were better than that. You sigh grudgingly before shaking your head. “I think the Marquis has seen the error of his ways.”

“By the grace of Andraste, your life is returned to you.” She firmly gripped his chin as her magic flowed away, unfreezing him. “ _Do_ be more careful with it.”

The Marquis stumbles as he hurries away, and she turns her gaze back to you, a smile in place. “I’m _delighted_ to see you could attend this little gathering, my dear. I’ve so wanted to meet you.”

You follow her as she speaks, guiding you to an alcove overlooking the gardens, away from prying eyes and listening ears. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

You gave her a half-bow in greeting, but had to ask before continuing. “Charmed, Madame Vivienne. Um - that Marquis… what will happen to him? Is he going to present a problem?”

“His aunt is the vicomtesse of Mont-de-Glace. Not a powerful family, but well-respected… and very devout. Alphonse will be disowned for this. It’s not the first time he’s brought his aunt disgrace, but I’m sure it will be the last. After such a public humiliation, I’m sure he’ll run off to the Dales to join the Empress’s war efforts, either to make a good end or earn back a modicum of self-respect.” Her lips curl in a tight grin. “Ah, but I didn’t invite you to the chateau for pleasantries. I wanted to meet you face to face. It’s important to consider one’s connections… _carefully_. With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. But, the faithful flock to your banner, pinning their hopes on you to deliver them from chaos. As the leader of the last loyal mages in Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

_Finally_ , someone who was willing to look beyond common alliances and dissention to do what needed to be done! “Does that mean you’ll be aiding the Inquisition from the Imperial Palace?” You’re not sure what another ambassador could bring that Josephine couldn’t, but you wouldn’t turn away an ally.

“Ordinarily I would be happy to serve as liaison to the court, but these are not ordinary times. The Veil has been ripped apart and there is a hole in the sky. It is now the duty of every mage to work to seal the Breach, and so I would join the Inquisition on the field of battle.”

_Oh_ you could almost jump for joy. Someone that was actively seeking to help with the hole in the sky, a woman of influence and powerful magic? It was _about time_ something started going your way - maybe the Pantheon or the Maker were finally getting on the ball here. “The Inquisition will be happy to have you, Madame du Fer.”

“Great things are just beginning, my dear. I can promise you that. Now, _do_ enjoy the salon. I will meet you in Haven after I have made the necessary preparations.”

~~~

You’ve almost completely wrapped up your visit to Val Royeaux, making a last stop in the market to pick up those frilly cakes Solas loved so much, when the unmistakable sound of the strike of an arrow makes you flinch and instinctively whip out your staff. There’s… nothing out of the ordinary though - until you notice an arrow sticking out of the cobblestones, a red ribbon and a note wrapped around the haft. Carefully you approach, but no other arrows are sent your way as you reach the arrow and separate the message. It’s a note from someone calling themselves the “Friends of Red Jenny,” instructing you to search for the red things around the marketplace, that they will help you if you’re a true friend, with a crude map. Well… surrounded by the milling crowds of people, it can’t be too dangerous, right? And you can’t deny being curious… fine. The search is on.

The clues lead you to the docks, to the tavern, across the market… ending in a message to meet in a small courtyard. The day has grown late as you’ve hunted for the clues, the meeting time giving you _just_ enough space to make it there. Worriedly you glance around for any of your companions, but they’re off finishing their own tasks. It can’t be too bad if you hurry, right? Though Solas is _certain_ to be cross if you go off into a secluded courtyard on your own…

What he doesn’t know won’t kill him (or you, hopefully), and you don’t have enough time to debate or find anyone, so you decide to head that way. You had your magic, and this was still Val Royeaux, so you were fairly confidant you could handle yourself.

A masked man is waiting for you with a few guards. It’s obvious they weren’t expecting you - but you are _not_ a welcome sight, as they charge you with swords bared. You easily take down the soldiers, but fireballs coming from the hands of the masked man make you have to dodge quickly out of the way.

He storms forward, obviously indignant. “Herald of Andraste! How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably!”

Um… what? “I… don’t actually know who you are… Sorry?”

“Hah! You don’t fool me. I’m too important for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!”

Ok, now you were _really_ confused. 

The choking of another guard draws your attention as he drops, a small elvhen woman stepping up behind him. She draws an arrow towards the masked man. “Just say _what_.”

The man splutters in indignation. “What is the-” the arrow jutting from his throat cuts him off with a gurgle, coughing up blood as he collapses to the ground.

“Eeew!” The woman sneers down at the body. “Squishy one. But you heard me, right? Just say ‘What.’ Rich tits always try for more than they deserve. Blah, blah, blah, obey me! Arrow in my face!” She giggles, ripping the arrow out. “So you followed the notes well enough. Glad you see you’re -” She finally catches full sight of you, and immediately frowns. “Aaand you’re an elf. Well… I hope you’re not too… ‘elfy.’”

“Too… elfy?” Real conversationalist you were proving to be tonight. Honestly, you were beginning to worry about the people of Orlais. Maybe it was the water, or the air, or the statues, but something was _seriously_ wrong with these people.

“Oh, you know. ‘Elven Glory’ and hallas and proper rightness and all that shite. Whatever. I mean, it’s all good, innit? The important thing is: you glow? You’re the herald thingy?”

“Sure, why not. I glow… but who are _you_ , who is _he_ , and what are we doing here?”

She laughs. “No idea, I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him. Anyway. Name’s Sera. This is cover. Get ‘round it. For the reinforcements. Don’t worry. Someone tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve _got no breeches_!” She’s shaking as she chortles, and as the first of the guards runs out in chest plates and codpieces, you can’t help but giggle as well. That… that’s _glorious_. 

You both are giggling helplessly as you take down the guards, your magic and her arrows making quick work of them. “Ah… Friends really came through with that tip. No breeches!” She wipes tears from her eyes before shaking her head. “So, Herald of Andraste. You’re a strange one. I’d like to join.”

You grin at her. She’s amusing, but you have to know more. “How about a proper introduction first?”

“Alright. One name. Well, two. See, it’s like this. I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends, the Friends of Red Jenny. That’s me. Well, I’m one. So is a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall… There were three in Starkhaven. Brothers or something. It’s just a name, yeah? It lets little people, 'Friends,' be part of something while they stick it to the nobles they hate. So here, in your face, I’m Sera. The Friends of Red Jenny are sort of out there. I used them to help you. Plus arrows. Whatever. Here’s how it is. You ‘important’ people are up here, shoving your cods around. Blah, blah. ‘I’ll crush you. No, I’ll crush _you_.’ Ahem. Step down, and you’ve got big lords with big purses like the tit we killed here. Or was he one of the endless arselickers that follow? Doesn’t matter. He was taken down by a stable boy that doesn’t know much, but knows a bad person when he sees one. The point is, if you don’t listen down here, you risk your breeches. I just want to get everything back to normal. Like you?”

You were _fairly_ sure you followed what she was saying. And it was something you _supported_. Hell, you _were_ one of the “little people” before this whole thing with the Inquisition. You grin at her. “All right, Sera. I can use you and your Friends.”

“Yes! Get in before you’re too big to like! That’ll keep your breeches where they should be! Plus extra breeches, cuz I have all these… you have merchants that buy that pish, yeah? Got to be worth something. Anyway. Haven. See you there, Herald. This’ll be grand.”

Oh… the _first_ thing you were going to do would be introduce her to Seggritt. It would _so_ serve him right. 

~~~

Well, the first thing was _actually_ to soothe the ruffled feathers of Solas, for going off on your own. Cassandra muttered something about the ‘Will of Andraste,” before letting it go, but the firm set to his mouth said he wouldn’t be so easy to capitulate. You were still in one piece, though, so he couldn’t stay _too_ angry… especially when you surprised him with a box of the cakes he liked so much upon your return to Haven, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grinned at you. 

Still, his worried irritation was something to consider, _especially_ when Josephine sent word that she had discovered the location of the Templars and her nobles were ready to move. You knew you wouldn’t be able to bring him - apostates and Templars and all that put him in _entirely_ too much danger for your liking - but also knew he would _not_ be happy with you when you had to let him know.

A problem for another day, but one that wormed its way into your gut as he happily explained what he’d learned about the different baking processes for the different pastry styles, not letting you get fully carried away into his lilting descriptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s that! Next time, we’ll head out to the Templars, so make sure you’ve done the Champions of the Just. Or, if on your playthrough you sided with the mages, that’ll come a bit later, but just make sure you’ve made it through the alliance and the… events after.


	12. Chapter 6: Champions of the Just

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note - this one will be… a bit darker than many of the chapters before. I mean, to be expected given the tone of everything that happens in these quests, but yeah. So… a bit less fluffy, but I promise I’ll do my best to make up for it in the next intermission.
> 
> Stay golden, my darlings. Tears are just the water that makes our garden grow. Remember that, as we hit some of the more… defining moments of this story.

The Lord Seeker had marched the Templars to their stronghold at Therinfal Redoubt. Between Leliana and Josephine, they’d managed to wrangle ten Orlesian noble houses into joining you - the Herald - at the Redoubt to pressure the Lord Seeker into a meeting. Honestly, you don’t care if the Lord Seeker wants to cooperate or not - it’s the Templars you’re after.

It’s… unusual, because Therinfal has been vacant for decades, and Cullen can’t read into the Lord Seeker’s motives, but the Order was founded to fight magic, and that’s what you need them to do. Still, you can’t help feeling a _bit_ like bait on a hook for the Lord Seeker to bite, but there really is no other way.

You spend the next few hours with Josephine going over the noble houses joining you, learning what you need to navigate with as little backlash as possible (Remember, sign _nothing_ he offers you. Her family is very well-respected, but has little bite beyond her name.) before staggering out of the Chantry, exhausted. 

Solas is waiting for you, taking your elbow to pull you aside, out of the general flow of traffic and away from the eyes of most of the pilgrims. 

Ah… time for _this_ conversation. The gnawing in your gut intensifies - you’d been dreading this for some time. It’s made worse by the worry clearly written on his face - he’s concerned for you. “Solas, I know what you’re going to say… I -”

He stops you with a quick shake of his head, his jaw firm as he smoothly cuts over you. “I know you’re going to try to leave me here out of some misguided attempt to protect me. But _something_ is going on here, something we don’t yet see. _Please_ , lethallan. Take me with you. I can _help_.”

“ _Dammit_ , Solas, they’re _Templars_. You’re an apostate mage. I _want_ to take you, I _know_ how skilled you are, but I _can’t_! Please understand, I-”

He steps back, raising an eyebrow, anger making his voice silky soft. “Ah. And I suppose you’ll fair so much better, _Herald_?” He pointedly glares at your staff. “You’ve shown such _deft_ promise with them in the past, of course. But then, _Andraste_ has protected you once already...”

Oh, that was _low_. Your marked fist clenches as you ache with hurt. Did he think you’d _asked_ for this, that you _wanted_ to constantly drag people you were starting to care about, to see as friends into danger, risking your life over and over again? You can’t stop the sliver of ice in your voice. “I’m afraid I don’t have much choice in the matter. If you’ll excuse me.”

He pauses, and then wipes a hand over his head before sighing in frustration. “Lethallan - wait. I’m sorry, that was uncalled for and needlessly harsh. I trust Cassandra, and I trust _you_ , but I can’t help feeling like I’m complicit in sending you into the dragon’s den. Forgive me? Just… promise you will stay as safe as you can.”

You can’t stay mad - this is _Solas_ \- and you are _beyond_ touched by his concern. “I understand, I do. I’m sorry I can’t bring you, but I _will_ be safe, and come back in one piece.”

His sly, trickster grin spreads across his face. “See that you do. Remember, I’ll be _waiting_.”

With a blush and a squeak you bid him goodnight and flee back to your cabin, his warm laughter echoing behind you. 

~~~

You’re missing that teasing laughter something _fierce_ as you, Cassandra, Blackwall, and Varric make your way into the swarm of nobles at Therinfal Redoubt. The keep is… forbidding, squatting like a sullen toad in the mountainside.

Varric seems to agree. “Oh, how _fun_. Love the decor - it screams ‘I hate fun and kick puppies.’” You agree, but can’t muster your customary grin at his quip. 

A masked noble approaches you. The studying with Josephine kicks in - Lord Esmeral Abernache, the one you’re not supposed to sign anything from. “The Herald of Andraste! _Honored_ to participate. It is not unlike the second dispersal of the reclaimed Dales.”

The… _what_? He can see that you’re Elvhen, can’t he? Oh yes, not unlike a big push to _murder_ a bunch of your people on what used to be _their_ land. Not unlike _at all_. Varric chuckles and claps you on the back - _hard_ \- in what looks like camaraderie, but the warning in his eyes is clear and gets you to stop reaching for your staff. Can’t bludgeon the nobles, no matter _how_ irritating they are. Honestly, it makes you kind of regret not bringing Sera, though maybe you’ll mention his name the next time she’s sending her Friends to play pranks - maybe wouldn’t tell her _why_ , exactly, but if anyone needed to wake up and find his breeches missing, it was _this_ guy.

“The Lord Seeker has agreed to meet with us to discuss the Breach, a testament to our alliance with the Inquisition. Care to mark the moment? Ten Orlesian Houses walk with you!” He gestures to you for a speech. 

You see Cassandra nod slightly out of the corner of your eye. Fine, this is what Josephine had been prepping you for. “The Inquisition values this alliance, Lord Abernache. The Templars must see reason. We can’t let the Breach endanger us any longer.”

“Ah, yes. _Ghastly_ looking thing, isn’t it?”

_Sweet Maker_ , this man was incredibly self-involved. He kept pace with you as you walked forward, prattling away about the honor and glory of the houses joining you. You’re mostly ignoring him until he says something new. “I don’t suppose you’d care to finally divulge what got the Lord Seeker’s attention. Rumor will, if you won’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Lord Seeker won’t meet us until he greets the Inquisition in person. Quite a surprise after the spat in Val Royeaux, wouldn’t you say?”

That was news to you. “The Inquisition only asks the Templars help us close the Breach.”

“Ah, then it must have been all arranged by your ambassador! Let the diplomats work their magic if you trust them. Between you and I, the Chantry never took advantage of their Templars… _wiser_ heads should steer them.”

You’re not sure what to make of that, so you decide it’s better not to respond. You’re saved from having to come up with something by the approach of a knight - ah, you recognize him from Val Royeaux. He was the one who’d questioned the Lord Seeker about you, who’d tried to help the Chantry Mother. Seeing he was the one sent to greet you, you begin to feel better about this prospect - if he was the Templar emissary, maybe this wouldn’t go poorly at all. 

A scribe steps forward. “I present Knight-Templar Ser Delrin Barris. Second son of Bann Jevrin Barris of Ferelden. Ser Barris, may I -”

Barris ignores him, striding forward to approach you. “I’m the one that sent word to Cullen, of our location. He says the Inquisition works to close this Breach in the Veil. Though, I didn’t think you’d bring such… lofty company.” He eyes the nobility with uncertainty and a touch of distaste, and your opinion of him rises just a bit more. 

Abernache, his arms crossed in contempt, looks over the knight. “Barris? Moderate holdings, your family. And the _second_ son? Heh.” He clearly dismisses Barris as lesser, simply a guide into the redoubt.

Barris ignores his attempt at insult. “This promise of status has garnered the Lord Seeker’s interest. Beyond sense, the sky burns with magic but he ignores all calls to action until your _friends_ arrive.”

You agree wholeheartedly. Turning to Cassandra, you ask, “Should a Seeker lead the Templars this way?”

She shrugs in confusion. “In an emergency, if there’s no other recourse, but then his goal should be to restore them to order.”

Barris responds after nodding to Cassandra in deference. “He has taken command. Permanently.”

“If he feels there is a holy mandate…”

“That is what the Lord Seeker claims, and our commanders parrot him.” He sighs. “The Lord Seeker’s actions make no sense. He promised to restore the Order’s honor, and marched us here to wait. Templars should _know_ their duty, even when held from it. Win over the Lord Seeker and every able-bodied knight will join the Inquisition to help seal the Breach.”

You nod to him, not wanting to make promises without knowing what you were walking into. “I will do what I can - but wish me luck.”

“Good luck, then, if it helps. We’ve been asked to accept much, after that shameful display in Val Royeaux. Our truth changes on the hour. I hope you can bring _reason_.”

Abernache, tired of being excluded, finally butts back in. “Don’t keep your betters waiting, Barris. There’s important work for those born to it.”

Oh yeah, you were _definitely_ sending Sera his way.

~~~

Barris stops in a courtyard, beside a contraption of wenches and flags. “The Lord Seeker has a… request before you meet him. These are the Standards, an honored rite set on the people, the Maker, and the Order. The Lord Seeker asks that you perform the rite so that he may see the order in which you honor them.”

“What if I fail?”

“There’s no right or wrong answer - the ritual simply shows watchers who you are and what you value.”

“We’d be honored, if that’s what the Lord Seeker asks of the Inquisition.”

“Not the Inquisition. _You_. The Lord Seeker changed _everything_ to meet you. _Not_ the Inquisition, you - by name.”

That was… uncomfortable. “Why?”

“I don’t know. He’s been fixated on you ever since your hoard of nobles arrived.”

Abernache scoffs, making you jump - you’d almost forgotten he was there. “The Lord Seeker makes us shuffle flags around? Refuse! Let’s meet the man already. Hang your own draperies, Knight.”

Now you’re _definitely_ going to do this ritual. Honestly, if that’s all the Lord Seeker is asking, for you to do some sacred rite, it would be foolish and needlessly antagonistic to refuse. Beyond that, it had the added benefit of pissing off Lord Soon-to-be No Breeches, and you were _more_ than okay with that. “I’d be honored to complete the rite for the Lord Seeker.”

Barris nods, and shows you how to work the wenches to raise the flags. “Once you finish, the Lord Seeker will meet you.”

You study your options. The highest flag is no question - the people. That’s what you were doing this whole nonsense for anyway, for the people caught in the middle of a war they didn’t ask for, murdered by demons that some madman ripped out of a hole in the sky. 

The second flag… you guess had to go to the Maker. Elvhen people were already polytheistic - maybe the Maker wasn’t traditionally in the Pantheon, but He _was_ in yours. Besides, if it _was_ Andraste who saved you, well… Best to be polite.

That left the Order at the bottom. You worried about offending the Templars, but then decided it didn’t matter - this was how _you_ viewed their importance in the world. The Templars were supposed to _serve_ , to help people and follow the Maker - and there hadn’t been much serving going on. They had done little to prove the honor they were supposed to carry. 

You nod to Barris, showing that you were done. 

“Traditionally, the participant explains their choices to those assembled.”

Well then. “The Inquisition stands for the people, to bring peace to Thedas. As for the rest… it’s a private matter, and my own affairs.”

Abernache splutters at you. “It’s rather not! I’ll not be left out of any explanation that these clods understand, if we’re bringing them to heel.”

Barris has finally had enough. “I suppose those are _your_ intentions, Lord Abernache.”

“My intentions are to deal with people who _matter_! You helmed louts are wasting the Inquisition’s time and _my_ time! Unacceptable!” 

A deep sigh is drawn from Barris. “The Lord Seeker awaits you both.”

~~~

You’re led into a small room inside the Redoubt to await the Lord Seeker. Barris and Abernache immediately set to arguing again, but you’re not paying attention. A sense of… unease has started to fill you. More than the usual this may be a trap by the Templars - something feels… _wrong_ here, though you can’t quite put a finger on it. You find yourself stretching, making sure your staff is within easy reach, noticing your companions do the same. 

A trio of armored knights approach - _not_ the Lord Seeker, but a knight-captain. Your sense of unease immediately doubles. Something isn’t right, something isn’t right _at all_.

“You were expecting the Lord Seeker? He sent me to die for you.”

...what? You and Barris exchange glances, he caught the strange phrase as well.

Abernache seems as completely oblivious as usual. “Knight-Captain! Lord Esmeral Abernache. Honored. It is not unlike the second dispersal of the reclaimed Dales. No doubt rank puts you above such things. A pity more people don’t understand that.” You’re quietly seething, gritting your teeth against saying anything to the noble. As much as he deserved a tongue lashing, this was _not_ the time.

The knight-captain chuckles darkly, looking back to you. “ _This_ is the ‘grand alliance’ the Inquisition offers?”

You see the… _promise_ of movement in his body. “Lord Abernache, perhaps you should step back from the Knight-Captain?” You hate the man, but you don’t want him to be slaughtered if this goes ass over tea kettle quickly. 

It just seems to anger the man. “I will not be beguiled by your silver tongue as you’ve sought to beguile the Lord Seeker, submitting to his foolish whims! Now, Knight-Captain Denam. I believe we are to meet the Lord Seeker and have waited long enough. Take us to him.”

Once again, Denam outright ignored Abernache. “The Lord Seeker had a plan, but the Herald ruined it by arriving with purpose. It sowed too much dissent” Noise begins to flow around you, from beyond the small room - sounds of battle. No, sounds of _massacre_ , if the screams are anything to go by. Denam shows no reaction, his eyes cold and unfeeling. 

Barris approaches him. “Knight-Captain, I must know what is going on!”

Finally, Denam’s control seems to fracture, rage pouring from him, madness twisting his face. “You were all supposed to be changed! Now we must purge the questioning knights!”

More knights enter, their skin streaked a cruel red in an almost parody of the elvhen vallaslin. Abernache finally seems to realize something wrong, scrambling back… but an arrow sprouts from his throat and he falls to the ground, twitching. More arrows fly, taking out knights stationed around the room, and others strike from behind, swords ripping through their spines and tearing them apart.

“The Elder One is coming! No one will leave Therinfal who isn’t stained red!”

_Enough_. Your staff is in your fingers, fire flying, and your companions move to face Denam and the red-streaked knights.

As the last falls, you turn to Barris holding his sword at Denam’s throat. “Is the knight-captain still alive?”

“Barely. If you use a healing potion he may survive - if he even deserves it.”

“We’ll heal him. Let’s judge the knight-captain _after_ we find his master.”

Barris nods, forcing a healing potion down Denam’s throat before hitting him in the head with the hilt of his sword, knocking him out cold. Wordlessly, he hands you Denam’s keys, and you proceed into the keep - and into the madness.

~~~

Massacre is right. The red knights are murdering their brethren. It’s clear the unchanged knights were caught completely off-guard - some have managed to acquire weapons, but were pleading against friends and former shield-mates to come to their senses, being struck down ruthlessly. The few that were managing to fight back were often in tears, sobbing as they hacked apart people they’d known their entire lives, that they’d fought and bled with. 

The red knights were… changed, made ghastly by whatever was corrupting them. Varric and Cassandra seem to have seen this before, though they are absolutely horrified, something to do with the red lyrium. You fight your way through barracks and courtyards, cutting down red knights as you pass, doing your best to help besieged Templars while trying to close your ears and heart to the screams of the dying. 

As you press forward, an angry, hissing voice echoes around you. “I will _know_ you! You will be so much more!” You jerk around, but find nowhere the voice could have come from, and the others seem to not have heard. “Come! Show me what kind of woman you _really_ are.”

It didn’t matter - the pressing issue was the Templars and getting to Lord Seeker Lucius.

You finally reach the main keep of the Redoubt, and surge up the stairs with your companions close behind you. The Lord Seeker is there, standing with his back toward you, facing the keep doors. Cautiously, you approach - he appears unarmed, but he is at the heart of this madness.

As you close in, he whips around and grabs you by the throat, dragging you forward, as green magic ripples around you, ripping you into a _nightmare_. “At _last_.” For a moment, everything goes dark.

~~~

You come to… somewhere _else_. It’s dark, faded around the edges, like a memory or a dream, but still seeming incredibly _real_. Green mist swirls around you, thick and cloying, the sickly sweet smell of decay heavy in the air. As you walk forward, the burning bodies of the Conclave victims appear out of the darkness, twisted in mortal agony. You can’t save these people, they’re already gone. Clenching your jaw, you press forward to the two people-shaped masses ahead of you.

As you approach, their features shimmer into place, and your heart drops. There before you stands Cullen and Josephine - perfect replicas, except for the dark, unfeeling eyes. The warmth you have grown accustomed to has been replaced with cold, dispassionate hatred. 

A third form stalks between them, Leliana, moving with arrogant grace. “Is this shape _useful_? Will it let me know you? Everything tells me about you. So will this… _watch_.” With a sneer, the creature that is Leliana grips Cullen by the hair, pulling his head back and baring his throat, pressing a bright steel blade against it, the point drawing one crimson drop of blood as it stops to smirk at you. As she does, the form gains a spark of life - the warm blue eyes _pleading_ with you to step in, to save him, filled with horror at his coming fate.

You can recognize the creature for what it is - you’d been trained against them enough as a mage. As much as it hurts you, you know better than to show fear before it. Cullen is _safe_ , in Haven, _not_ standing before you. “Stop these lies, demon. I know you, and I am _not_ afraid.”

The Leliana-creature stares at you silently a moment, before slowly drawing the blade across his throat, his blood splattering hot against you as he crumples to the ground, his eyes accusing as they glaze over in death. You bite back a cry, your heart ripping in two. It’s _not_ him, it’s _just_ a demon trying to get to you. You stiffen your spine and _force_ yourself to hold steady. “ _This_ hurts you.”

The demon laughs and the Leliana form dissolves away, the knife appearing in the hands of Josephine, swaying forward with a suggestive grin made grotesque by the madness in her eyes. “Being you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker. Do you _know_ what the Inquisition can become?” The soft breath of Josephine at your ear makes you jump, scrambling to the side to escape her - _its_ \- reach. “You’ll see. When I’m done, the Elder One will kill you and ascend, and then I will _be_ you.”

“Who or what is this ‘Elder One’?”

The creature, hidden by darkness once more, chuckles at your ignorance. “He is… _between_ things. Mortal once, but no longer. Glory is coming, and the Elder One wants you to serve him like everyone else - by _dying_ in the right way.”

You smirk up at the creature. “Keep talking, then - I’m sure I’ll get there eventually.”

The voice you were dreading hearing answers behind you, your smirk dropping away. “I am not your _toy_.” Cullen is standing, open hatred on his face, the knife-wound gaping like a second grin, still dripping with his own hot blood. “I am Envy and I _will_ know you. Tell me, _Herald_ , in your mind -” he stalks forward, and approaches a new form - you, or a spirit recreation of you - stabbing the bloody knife into your back and watching with satisfaction as you collapse. “Tell me what you think. Tell me what you _feel_.” His mad eyes rake over you as he stands before a copy of the war table map, setting it ablaze. 

A noise makes you whip around, the spirit recreation of you standing there, bleeding out, clutching the wound on its stomach, and suddenly _you_ are holding the knife. You drop it in horror as the familiar voice, brutally twisted, whispers out, “Tell me what you see.”

A door swings open and you’re almost pushed through it. This is a memory, from when you first awoke after the Conclave, in the cell with Cassandra. The spirit-shape is kneeling where you were placed, answering as you did. You skirt around the scene, moving forward. As you do, it changes, the spirit-shape now in armor, standing with generals. “Your enemies have surrendered unconditionally. The Inquisition now holds the most powerful army in all Thedas!”

The spirit answers. “Our reach begins to match my ambition, but we will strive for more.”

You scoff, attempting to throw it off-balance. “Is imitating what you can’t have your only pleasure, demon?”

“Accusing, trying to find my weakness. Is that the woman you are?” It cackles madly before bursting into flames, and you press on once more. 

Grotesque statues vomit green acid, causing you to flinch back with a cry as it scalds your skin. You search for a way around as Envy continues to berate you. “Were you in earnest when you chose the people as the most important of the flags? For when I am you, the people will _never_ forget what you will do to them.”

As you skirt the fountains, you see facsimiles of people. Talking about how the Inquisition rules nations, calling the Chantry heretics and having them burned at the stake. You would _never_ do this, _never_ raise the call to war. With a cry you rush through the acid, trying to get through, shaking as it burns, but it hurts less than the things they are saying about you.

A voice comes from the mist, not Envy, something new. Something… calm. “You’re hurting, helpless, hasty. What happens to the hammer when there are no more nails?”

The voice that is Envy screeches out. “What are you? Get out! This is _my_ place!”

You step into a room that looks almost normal - a bed, no monstrous things or spewing acid. For a moment it feels like you’ve stepped out of the nightmare, but when the door slams shut behind you, you jolt and hurry to open it. 

“Wait.” The calm voice, stopping you. “Envy is hurting you. Mirrors on mirrors on memories. A face it can _feel_ but not fake. I want to help! You, not Envy.”

As you turn back around, the room has… twisted, gone upside down. The bed now hangs from the ceiling, the chandelier standing from the floor. 

“Who… are you?” You ask to the being.

“I’m Cole. We’re inside you! Or, _I_ am, you’re always inside you.” There, on the upside down bed sits a young man. He is… strange, dressed simply but with a giant floppy hat that covers most of his face. “It’s easy to hear, harder to be a part of what you’re hearing. But _I’m_ here, hearing, helping… I hope. Envy hurt you - _is_ hurting you. I tried to help, then I was here, in the hearing. It… it’s not usually like this…” he trails off in confusion.

It’s obvious he’s some sort of spirit, but he doesn’t seem to want to harm you. “If you can explain this, I’m listening.” You keep your voice soft as you approach where he hangs- he seems… strangely fragile, for what he appears to be.

He nods, and then suddenly he’s before you, right side up this time. “I was watching. I watch. Every Templar knew when you arrived. They were impressed, but not like the Lord Seeker.”

“The Lord Seeker is an Envy demon. It wants to be me.”

“Yes. It twisted the commanders, forced their fury, their fight. They’re _red_ inside. Anyway, you’re frozen. Envy is trying to take your face. I heard it and reached out, and then in, and then I was here.”

“So… you’re a phantom who enters minds?”

“If… it bothers you, I can make you forget. That helps… no. You need all of you right now to fight. Maybe later.” He seems sad, but resigned.

That’s not what you meant, but there’s no time to really push further. “Alright, Cole. If you really want to help, how do I get out?”

“It’s your head, I hoped _you’d_ know how to stop it.”

“Well… I don’t.”

The boy nods, and then walks forward. “All of this is Envy, people, places, power. If you keep going, Envy stretches. It takes _strength_ to make more. Being one person is hard. Being many, too many, more and more, and Envy… breaks down. You break out.”

“So, if we keep moving in my head, we tire Envy into submission.”

“Maybe. I hope it helps. It’s more than sitting here waiting to lose your face.” With a nod, Cole leads you out the door and back to the acid-spitting statues. “Ideas are loud here. Make them louder. Think of water.”

So… you do. You close your eyes and imagine water, cool, clear, refreshing, tumbling onto the cobblestones instead of biting into your skin. Envy screams in anger as you open your eyes to see that it _worked_. “That _thing_ can’t help you! I will see more!”

A door before you bursts into flame, and Envy cackles out. You enter a new hallway, a corridor of cells. “Betrayed allies will curse your name! Like the first Inquisition you will rule over a throne of blood and ruin and fear!”

Cole’s quiet voice spoke again. “Unless you don’t. You don’t have to. None of this is real unless you let it be.”

You cling to that and you move forward, Envy screeching again. “Get. Out. _Thing_. I am learning!”

You press forward, doing your best to let the sounds of screams wash off of you, ignoring the cries of prisoners the demon-you betrayed and placed into the cells. The heartbroken rage of a man who admits no guilt and watches his children executed. The disappointment of Mother Giselle, condemned to die at your hand.

The pathway grows dark and forbidding around you. There, on your right, the thing Envy has used to hurt you the most. 

“The Inquisition has _questions_ , Commander.”

“Is it my turn to be branded a traitor for speaking out against what we’ve become? I deserve it, for letting _her_ turn the Inquisition into a butcher’s pit.”

“It’s not real. The hurt is, but not the faces,” Cole reminds you gently. You nod, and force yourself to turn away, stifling the sob in your throat. “It’s dark, but it _isn’t real_. Think of sparks, and keep going up. You’re more you there than you are Envy, and that tires it out.”

You do your best to picture sparks - there, on what was an empty stone wall now stands a bracketed torch. Carefully, you lift it, feeling the bright, crackling warmth - it’s veilfire, mage fire, but it _feels_ like flame in this place. Back you go, to the cell Cullen is held, ignoring his cries as guards descend on him, to light a brazier hidden in the corner. The guards scream and flee, and his body goes still.

Again, to Mother Giselle, and again, to the man screaming as he holds the broken body of his infant son, and again, as Josephine begs to know what it is you want her to confess as she’s stretched out before an executioner. Bringing light to the darkness while trying to hold back tears at the torments surrounding you.

Finally, stairs in the darkness, and Envy’s angry growl as you ascend. “I haven’t seen enough!”

~~~

You emerge in a forest, the trees gnarled and twisted, their tortured branches filled with the bodies of the dead. A broken chevalier, clearly not far from death, screaming about the burning of Val Royeaux, about the Herald marching with her army of demons. “What is the point of attacking Orlais?” you demand, disgusted.

“So… you’re curious? Should I use that when I’m you?”

Cole again. “You’re letting the Herald see more, but it’s letting her sketch her shapes. The more you show her, the more powerful she becomes.”

“Quiet!”

There - demons, and the sounds of battle. Broken bodies impaled on lances, the ground slick with blood. You… recognize this place. It’s Therinfal Redoubt, in ruins. Cole speaks in your ear. “Keep going! It’ll probably come out soon. It’s angry, but that’s okay - so are you.”

You climb the ruined stairs, dodging demons and fighting men, doing your best to avoid being drawn into the fight - you refused to kill these men, even in a dream. There, at the top, where the Lord Seeker was standing at the start of this nightmare.

You step forward, and the spirit shape is there, It grabs you, whipping you around, screaming in your face, gripping you by the throat and lifting you off the ground. “Unfair, unfair! That _Thing_ kept you whole, kept you from giving me your shape!”

Struggling against its grip, you cough out, “What could you gain from being me?”

“What could you gain - what could - _bah_!” Envy can no longer mimic you, its own harsh voice spilling through. “Let’s start again. More pain, this time. The Elder One still comes!”

Your source of calm, there beside you. “It’s frightened of you.”

It releases its hold, turning to face Cole, but you have what you need. It’s frightened of you? Good. Let’s give it a _reason_ to be. Hauling back, you let loose - headbutting it directly in the face - 

Immediately you’re torn from the nightmare and back into your own body, and where the Lord Seeker once stood is the monstrous, twisted true form of the Envy demon. It screams at you, running, locking itself behind a barrier.

Cassandra gasps in shock, coming to a stop beside you. “What is that _thing_?”

You watch it, angry, no longer hurting but _beyond_ pissed off. “An Envy demon. It had stolen the face of the Lord Seeker, and decided to take a fancy in mine.”

“Then… the Lord Seeker…”

It was Barris who answered her. “Is imprisoned… Or dead. Maker’s breath…” He stopped, staring at Envy’s barrier. “It used the red lyrium to corrupt us, didn’t it? I _knew_ something was wrong with that miserable stuff. They sometimes bring in new types of lyrium for us to take, but this one felt different. Some of the commanders took it, to show it was safe… But we were fooled by a demon. It took our commanders so we wouldn’t question when we began to change! We should have seen this. We should have _known_.”

You stalk forward, inches from his face, to glare at him, the normal understanding you’d have unwilling to show. “So are you going to stand here and keep blaming yourself, or are you going to _do something about it_?”

That brings the fire back into his eyes, for a moment, as he regards you silently before turning to the Templars that had made it through. “Templar! What is Envy?”

“A coward, brother!” Came the shouted response of one Templar. “It studies, makes less mistakes, but mostly it hides.” Another replied. 

Barris turns back to you. “We need our veterans. Our commanders have turned but our lieutenants may still be fighting. We’ll hold the hall, you find the lieutenants and the uncorrupted lyrium stores. Bring them here, and I’ll _give_ you Envy. Show those _things_ no mercy.”

~~~

As you fight through red Templars and hunt for lyrium, you burst into a room - given what was in there, it had to have been the former Lord Seeker’s room, given the artefacts within, though it was clear that he’d been fighting the madness for some time if the crazed writing and repeated drawings of Andraste’s Eye were anything to go by. In the center, with a note stabbed to its head with a dagger, was a bust of the Empress Celene.

Cole stepped out from behind it, but it didn’t appear the others saw him. “The Elder One wants her dead. Empress Celene. He hates her, haunts her, wants her dead but hides _why_. He hid other things, too.” A noise causes you to look around, but when you look back, he’s gone again.

You’ve found the last of the veterans when Cassandra says she hears the sound of fighting in the Great Hall, and you hurry to return.

~~~

A few of the red monstrosities have broken through into the hall, but it’s nothing Barris and the veterans you’ve returned can’t handle. Barris paces before the Templars, calling for them to hold, before facing you. “Keep them off us. We’ll bring down the barrier.” One by one, they took a draught of lyrium, before turning their unique powers towards the barrier. 

Envy has summoned more red Templars, and you and your companions fight them back as the Templars gather their strength to bear against the barrier. With a crack, the barrier dissolves, and you surge forward to face Envy before it can run again. 

The Templars are spent, but you and your companions have this battle, especially when you see Cole step out of the shadows to approach beside you. 

Envy was standing at an altar, waiting for you. “I touched _so much_ of you. But you are selfish with your glory, and no I am _no one_!”

Cole storms towards it. “Dark and desperate! Death to make yourself alive! I used to be like you… I’m not anymore. You shouldn’t be either.” Envy screams with rage before throwing itself forward to attack you.

The battle is fierce and desperate, but the five of you hold fast, and the demon eventually falls. Exhausted, you return to the Great Hall to rejoin with Barris and his Templars. 

~~~

Barris is standing to greet you, his knights beside him. “The demon is dead, Andraste be praised. She shielded you from its touch. We have numbers across Thedas, but we let this happen. Our officers either failed to see it, or were complicit. The Templars are ready to hear what the Inquisition needs of us.” His head held high, his shoulders squared, he stands tall, proud, and ready to follow. If there were such a thing as a true Templar after this massacre, Barris and these tired, blood-soaked men and women would be it.

You turn to look at the Breach, giving yourself a moment to think, before turning back. “There was corruption here, but also I see valor and honor in each and every one of you that stood fast. _Rise tall again_. Help the Inquisition seal the Breach before it swallows us all.”

Barris bowed to you. “You speak truths we never should have ignored, but the Order is leaderless, gutted by betrayal. We must rebuild it.”

“Your Order is a symbol that holds the people’s respect. That _cannot_ die today. We offer you an alliance. Supplies, weapons, grounds to shelter you. All we ask is that you help us heal the Breach and restore peace to Thedas.”

Barris turned to his knights. “Brothers and sisters, do we accept the Inquisition’s offer?” A resounding cheer went up around you, echoing across the war-torn room.

~~~

You set off back towards Haven, leaving the Templars behind to gather what they could before marching. You’re bruised and weary, but you push hard, eager to see Haven, to move on to the mages, to get this damn thing finished…

But first, you _really_ have to see your advisors and make sure they’re okay - namely, one golden-haired former Knight-Captain. 

~~~

You throw yourself from your hart when you finally arrive at the cold gates of Haven. Your people are waiting, the scouts having reported your arrival as soon as you were spotted. The advisors come to greet you… but stop in shock as you throw yourself at Cullen, holding on for just a moment, feeling him gloriously _alive_. You know it’s _incredibly_ unprofessional, and probably wrong on _so_ many levels, but right now you’re entirely too exhausted to care. After a long moment, as he stutters and can’t seem to decide whether or not to put his arms around you in return, you pull yourself away, nodding to Leliana and Josephine and wiping tears from your eyes. Without a word, you turn to the gates and begin slowly walking up the hill, leaving Cassandra to explain the basics of what happened at Therinfal Redoubt.

Behind you, you hear movement, but then the voice of Iron Bull, pitched lower than usual. “Let her be, Cullen. Just… let her be. She’s got some things to deal with.”

~~~

The advisors aren’t sure what to make of the news of the Templars, once you’ve all made it back to the War Room, but Cullen firmly believes that they will fight, and fight loyally. You agree - the sins that were committed were committed by their superiors, and to punish the entire Order for that would make you no better than them. 

“When will they arrive?”

Cole appeared, kneeling on the war table. “They’re almost here. Templars don’t like to be late.”

Cassandra and Cullen immediately whip out their swords, Cullen stepping around to shove you behind him. You grab his arm, stopping him, holding up a hand and yelling for everyone to hold. Confused, they look at you, swords not _quite_ lowering. 

Cole looks at you, just as confused. “I came with you to help. I would have told you before, but you were busy.”

“It’s alright Cole, you just… startled us, appearing like that out of thin air.”

“I wasn’t _air_ , I was here. You just didn’t see me. Most people don’t until I let them.”

Cassandra stepped forward. “Call the guards! This creature is not what you-”

Leliana cut over her smoothly. “A moment, Cassandra. I would like to hear why he came.”

Cole only has eyes for you, though. “You help people. You made them safe when they would have died. I want to do _that_. I can help. The hole in the sky is too loud, it makes it hard for spirits to think, pulling and pushing pain. I want to _help_.”

You smile at the young man, your decision easy. “He saved my life at Therinfal. Without him, I could not have defeated Envy. I trust him, I think he really is just trying to help.”

“I won’t be in the way. I’ll be small, tiny. No notice taken unless you want them to.”

You nod, and just as quickly, he vanishes. Leliana grins. “That’s… a useful trick. I’ll keep an eye on the boy, but we mustn’t be distracted from the problem at hand. We have secured the Templars… if you still wish to ally with the mages, the time is now.”

You nod, and they get down to business, leaving you to stagger out to rest for whatever time remained to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Goodness_ that was a ride! We’ve still got some darkness ahead, but next will be a somewhat lighter (and extra fluffy!) intermission. 
> 
> Also, okay so, I _freaking love_ Cole. Not in that way, my little nasties - I love his compassion and his desire to help and his unique… uniqueness. I know a lot of people find him creepy, but he’s not _trying_ to be, that’s just who he is, and if you can’t see Solas shaking his head at you, well, it’s happening. I also love the way that many of the companions grow to love him too - the snarky little aside from him that Cassandra read Swords and Shields to him _three times_ and her frantic I did _not_ I _told_ you to _stop spying_ … Ah, dear companions.
> 
> Anyway. This intermission coming. Because I love you all (and because we’ve waited long enough) and as a reward for this depressing chapter (and the next couple of chapters to come), I’ll even give you the title:
> 
>  
> 
> _Drunken Kisses._
> 
>  
> 
> How’s that for exciting, hmm?
> 
> See you next time, dears!


	13. Intermission 7: Drunken Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, my dears! Life has this nasty little habit of getting in the way. 
> 
> Seriously though, your comments give me life, so this particular chapter is dedicated to EbonyBane and Kaylanna428.

You’re desperately weary - to your very _soul_ \- but you cannot find sleep no matter how you struggle to reach it. You’re burrowed into the bed in your cabin, but every time you close your eyes you hear the screams from that nightmare place, the tortured bodies, the glint of the knife as it rips across Cullen’s throat… 

With a pained gasp, you jerk back up, ripping the blankets off. You can’t handle the silence, not right now. As late as it is, however, you’re not sure where to turn. Most of the camp is asleep, you’re still a bit too embarrassed about your display earlier to seek out any of the advisors anyway. 

In the distance, you can hear the faint sounds of merriment coming the tavern. Iron Bull and his Chargers would still be there - they were most nights - along with Sera and, at this hour, likely some fairly sloshed pilgrims. That sounds like _exactly_ what you need, a few pints of something rotgut-y enough to dull the memories and allow you to finally rest.

You slip in, barely noticed - most of the attention seems to be at the long table holding Bull and the men. They’re having what appears to be some sort of drinking contest, with good-natured ribbing, bets being thrown down, and plenty of raucous laughter. 

Bull, of course, sees you immediately, his Ben-Hassrath trained eyes missing nothing. With a roar he elbows one of his companions aside, patting the seat for you to join them while calling for more tankards. You’re met with a round of cheers from the Chargers, their warmth spilling over you and starting to warm that frozen, terrified place deep inside.

It’s Rocky and Skinner’s turn to drink, so you’re drowned in the swell of noise as you take your place beside the giant Qunari. Sitting next to him - you barely reached his shoulder if you stretched - you feel small, but _safe_ , knowing that anything coming would have to breach the wall sitting beside you.

“You ok, Boss?” Bull’s voice is pitched just to where you can hear it, not watching you but clearly seeing everything. He’s leaned nonchalantly back against his chair, not drawing attention to the way you still jump at certain screeches and sudden movements.

You… want to tell him, _desperately_ want someone else to understand, but can’t bring yourself to talk about it, as if speaking it aloud would make it more real than it already was. Tonight was about _forgetting_ , so you shake your head at him, frowning down at your hands.

Bull understands, though - he sees more than anyone realized they could give away, which is part of why you sought his company tonight. He grabs one of the newly filled tankards and slides it over to you. It smells _terrible_ … but the others don’t seem to be having a problem with it, so you bravely take a swig - and the sharp burn immediately sets you to coughing, causing Bull to laugh heartily and clap you on the back. “What in Andruil’s name is _that_?”

 _That_ gets the Chargers’ attention… and soon you’re wrapped up in the game along with them, laughing as you attempt to keep up. The drink is aptly named Dragon Piss - and is probably what dragon piss would taste like if anyone tried to drink it. It’s still horrible, but by the third (or perhaps fourth?) drink you really don’t mind anymore. There’s even loud singing as they try to teach you the Charger’s Anthem, though there’s so much stumbling over words you know you won’t remember much.

_“No one can beat the Chargers 'cause we'll hit you where it hurts._  
Unless you know a tavern with loose cards and looser skirts!  
For every bloody battlefield, we'll gladly raise a cup.  
No matter what tomorrow holds, our horns be pointing up!” 

The barmaids keep giggling at Bull as they keep the tankards filled, leaning forward to show off cleavage and making suggestions for later in the evening. You finally blink blearily between them and him, before your ale-loosened mouth pops open. “They’re practically _throwing_ themselves at you.”

“Everyone wants to ride the Bull, Boss.” This causes another round of laughter, though you’re not quite sure why. Then you get regaled by stories of some of his better conquest tales by the men, stories that make you blush right down to your eartips even as you giggle. Bull makes some remark about it being the horns, which makes Krem turn to you. 

“Yeah, but the Herald’s got her hart. I don’t know if even _you_ can measure up. C’mon, yer Worship, you have to spill - who has the better rack?”

You grin as you picture your hart, but make a big show of studying Bull’s horns. The ale has bolstered your bravery, and you find yourself standing to reach out and grab hold, running your hands over them, rubbing the sharp tips. You’d meant to make a playful comparison, but the fascination quickly overtakes you. 

“Normally I’d ask to take you to dinner by this point.” Bull’s voice is dry but light, a slight smirk playing at his lips. The Chargers are crowing in their seats while the barmaids are keeping their distance, shooting you deadly glares. You stare at him a moment, fingertips still resting against his head, before compulsively leaning forward and pressing your lips to his.

He goes still and firm against you, which shocks you into momentary clear-headedness, but before you can pull away and apologize his large hands lift to wrap around your arms, holding you tightly, shifting to take control as the hint of teeth pinch your bottom lip. After a moment, you pull breathlessley away with a soft whispered “ _Oh…_ ” 

His eyes are dark as he studies you, watching you sway in his grip before shaking his head slowly. “C’mon Boss. Let’s get back to your cabin.” 

Hope, desire, warmth, anticipation, fear… you’re not quite sure, but a whirlwind of emotions rip through you, your eyes going wide as you mistake his meaning for an invitation. That quickly pauses as he hoists you over a shoulder, realizing you’re entirely too drunk to make the walk yourself.

Your legs might not worth, but your _mouth_ seems to have forgotten how to stop. “We could, you know, I mean… I’m not like the barmaids sure, I might not have done all that yet, and I’m not even sure how you’d, you know, _fit_ or anything, but-”

His voice is smooth, but you can hear the laughter in it. “Maybe one day, Boss, but not tonight. You’re not ready to ride the Bull - when _I_ have you, you’re going to be nice and sober, and _know_ it’s me that’ll make you walk funny the next day.”

You huff, grousing something about him thinking highly of himself, but let out a squawk when his hand pops you on the ass. You can’t struggle from his grip even if you _wanted_ to, so you do the next best thing with what you can reach - you pop him firmly in return. He pauses in shock for a moment before his laughter bursts out. “Don’t worry, little firebrand. The Bull likes it _rough_.”

You’re not quite sure how to respond to that, but you’re saved having to come up with something as he reaches your cabin, swinging open the door and lowering you down onto your bed. He takes a moment to strip off your boots and overshirt before pulling the blanket up over you, his large hands gentle as he tucks you in. The warmth of the evening, the drink, the tenderness of his care as he settles you in removes what’s left of the nightmare before, and you’re fast asleep before he steps out, shutting the door softly behind him.

\---

As he leaves, he pauses with a dark chuckle as he addresses the near-invisible form in the shadows without turning. “Should have known you wouldn’t let her out of your sight. If it were anyone else it would be creepy, you know.”

The soft shift of robes is his only reply before he continues. “Stay close tonight. Something happened in Therinfal, the kind of something that fucks you up if you don’t get it out. I’ve seen that look before - we’ll have to get her to deal with it before it causes scars even we can’t reach.”

The darkness is still for a moment, before a soft, lilting voice answers him. “Thank you. You and I may disagree on many things, but I am pleased she has others who will protect her.” Bull grunts and walks away, Solas’s dark eyes following him as he disappears into the night.

He doesn’t flinch as Cole appears beside him, perched on the low wall at the cabin’s edge. “He’s starting to see a light, a woman instead of a warrior. He sees her hurt and hears his own. It scares him, the caring, but he would take her hurt if it would help.”

“Bull wants to help, and so do I. Will you tell me what happened, what hurt?”

“A glitter in the darkness. A sharp blade and hot blood - no, not him! I can’t lose him! Caught in mirrors of memories and moments, harsh words as Envy spreads, sketching shapes out of misery. I am not that person, I am not a monster… am I a monster? Is this really me? Should his hate be real? Anger born of fear born of caring. Balled up inside to hide the hurt, to be brighter for the others.”

Solas regards the cabin door silently, his thoughts hidden from all but the spirit beside him. “I would ask one thing of you, Cole. If you can help, if you can keep the nightmares away until we can let her heal…”

Cole nods before vanishing from sight once more, and Solas settles into an easy stance, prepared to watch over you until the sun began to peek over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, my lovelies! First kiss even!
> 
> The next chapter sees us heading to the Mages - another heavier chapter. 
> 
> Fortunately the wait shouldn’t be as long this time! Love to you all!


	14. Chapter 7: In Hushed Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter this time! As with before, you’re good if you’ve been through the alliance and the events after. This time we’re joining up with the mages - and picking up our last companion, of course! 
> 
> Seriously - extra long chapter with some dark moments. Surprisingly, a _really_ fun one to write!
> 
> Enjoy, my darlings!

You awake with a pounding headache and _utter_ mortification at the events of the day before. Bull was an incredible friend, but part of you felt guilty - partially from throwing yourself at him like so much meat, but also because if word got back to… others… would the entire dynamic of your so-called ‘Inner Circle’ change? You debate with yourself as you pull on your armor, your ears stained a light pink of embarrassment - one thing’s for certain, Dragon Piss is _no longer_ on the menu. And attaching yourself to Cullen like that? You’d be shocked if the man spoke full words to you again, instead of blushing and stammering as he tried to get away. 

Still, you can’t hide for long - you really can’t put off the trip to Redcliffe. And despite everything, you actually feel rested; the evening drove the nightmares away, you’d spent most of the night chasing Cole through the Fade as the two of you amused the local nugs. You straighten your shoulders; you’re still Dalish, and if you can’t face it with pride then you can’t do much at all.

...though it all seems for naught as you enter the bustle of activity and no one glances askance your way. No pitying or looks of disgust, no ribbing (and you’re _certain_ Varric would have something to say)... Haven is its usual anthill of activity, and everything seems well. 

“Something on your mind, Boss?”

You jump a good foot in the air - you didn’t hear Bull’s approach. Your ears darken back to their red tinge. “Ah, Bull, yes… Um - about last night…”

“Last night? Oh, you mean the drinking contest! Sorry to say, Skinner took us all - she’s tiny, but she’s got the liver of a Qunari through and through. If Krem tells you I almost lost to him, you tell that Vint bastard you see through his lies. I was toying with him. Didn’t finally clear out until about three hours before dawn… course, the boys have _training duty_ with Cullen’s new recruits - must have forgot to mention that to them.” Bull’s ferocious grin makes you suddenly _very glad_ to not be among the Chargers - your head is swimming enough, and they’d stayed _long_ after you’d left.

Speaking of which… “Bull…” you sigh softly. “I’m sorry. About the kiss, I mean, I -”

He overrides you again, his voice pitched low enough that only the two of you can hear him. “Boss. You needed to loosen up a bit, I was there to help you do so. The boys understand, and what does or doesn’t happen between us stays between _us_. Out here, nothing changes - you’re the Boss, I’m The Iron Bull. But -” his eyes catch yours, his intensity like a weight through you, causing your breath to stutter. “I’m _not_ sorry, and if you ever decide you want to have a closer conversation with me, well. My door is open.”

He winks and walks away, shouting down to his Chargers about how demons and Vints wouldn’t care if they were too hungover to swing properly. You gape after him a moment before shaking yourself and turning towards other preparations… and making your next apology for the day.

~~~

You wanted to hesitate in taking Cassandra with you a second time - you knew firsthand how exhausted she had to be, but the look on her face told you under _no uncertain terms_ that - Herald or not - if you suggested as much you’d possibly take the place of her next training dummy. Besides, the only other non-mage trained in dispelling magic was Cullen, and he was still needed here _far_ more than you - and you’d be _damned_ if you took him after the nightmare that was Therinfal… and your attack of him after. 

Solas is an easy choice; as apostates, the two of you would go far to ease the mages into the idea of cooperation, in a way that Vivienne could never be. Iron Bull would be your wildcard - different while not being immediately ‘unsafe,’ but dangerous and _large_ enough to give almost anyone pause. 

The final step was meeting the advisors in the war room. Your feet slowed as you approached the large door, catching snippets of the conversation inside. 

“...no telling what she went through in Therinfal! She should rest _at least_ one more day!”

“The time to approach the mages is _now_. If we do not, we risk them turning against us for adding the Templars to our ranks.”

“Then make the Templars _useful_ and send _them_!”

“And respark the war? I know you’re concerned, Commander, but don’t be ridiculous -”

“It’s our _duty_ to protect her!”

“Enough!” You throw the door open, glaring at all of them. Cullen and Josephine look properly ashamed, while Leliana regards them coolly. “We don’t have the time for this - sealing the Breach is the most pressing matter, and for that we need _everyone_. Fiona _invited_ us there, at the very least we have an opening for negotiation.”

They nod, and the conversation returns to what needs to be done both meeting the mages and preparing for them to arrive should you return successful. 

Before you leave, you square your shoulders and take a moment to pull Cullen aside. “Commander. About yesterday…I -”

“I didn’t mind.” 

You glance quickly up at him, but his eyes are looking out over Haven - even if his face is a telling pink. “You… didn’t?”

He is quiet a moment before speaking, his voice incredibly soft when he finally answers you. “You have dealt with _so much_ , faced so many things fearlessly since emerging from the Fade. I protect you as I can, but…” His eyes finally meet yours, shining earnestly. “I don’t know how to protect you from everything, Herald. If I could, I _gladly_ would, but you… If you _ever_ need comfort, or to talk or… If there is _anything_ I am able to provide, I want to know.”

You’re… not sure how to respond in the _slightest_ , your heart skipping a beat as you stare up at him, his warm, solid bulk mere inches from you. His eyes drop to your lips as you struggle to find words…

Josephine’s voice echoes from the Chantry as she searches for him, needing his signature for one of the many Inquisition tasks. He smiles ruefully at you before backing away with a whispered “Duty calls.” You watch him leave, caught somewhere between confusion and disappointment, before shaking yourself firmly. Duty _did_ call - you were needed in Redcliffe.

~~~

The journey to the Hinterlands is becoming familiar, and now that the area has settled significantly with Inquisition influence it’s become almost enjoyable. Redcliffe was one of the places left unexplored your first few times this way, but now the invitation was extended and Leliana’s scouts had been spreading word of your arrival. 

The way is barred, but with a rift instead of a hostile army. _This_ you know and understand, as it ripples in response to your mark and unleashes a wave of demons.

Still, not even the _rift_ is quite… right, though, as everything seems to _distort_ as you approach. There are places where everything seems expand and slow to a crawl, others that seem to flicker anyone crossing into top speeds. It’s headache inducing, forcing you to close the rift from as far as possible, causing you to sway slightly as you attempted to hold onto your trail rations. Solas is nearby, studying the location of the rift, seemingly unconcerned though you can see the tension in the way he’s holding himself. He pitches his voice low, though no one is nearby. “The veil is weaker here than in Haven. And not merely weak, but altered in a way that I have not seen.” 

You nod to show you heard. The nausea passes quickly enough, and the gate is opened to you, one of Leliana’s people just beyond. “Lady Herald. We’ve been spreading the word that the Inquisition was coming, but you should know that _no one_ here has expected us.”

That… makes no sense, and raises your sense of alarm further as you and Cassandra exchange glances. “No one? Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

A negative headshake. “If she was, she hasn’t told anyone. We’ve arranged use of the Gull and Lantern tavern for negotiations.” He bows quickly before stepping away, another man taking his place. 

This one is a young mage, perhaps the envoy sent by Fiona? “Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies. Magister Alexius is in charge now, but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly. You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime, I will lead you to the tavern.”

_All_ of you tense. Magister… as in _Tevinter Imperium_ Magister? This entire situation suddenly reeks; is this why Fiona asked for you to come, she’d been deposed by a Magister? It was the only explanation you could find, as both a mage and an elf there was no way she’d willingly work with the Imperium. Still, it would have been nice to know going in. You can hear Bull grumbling about “bloody Vints” under his breath - none of you are taking this well.

You follow the mage to the tavern, entering to find Fiona and some of her people waiting. You go to greet her, but stop when you see no sign of recognition on her face. “Welcome, agents of the Inquisition. What has brought you to Redcliffe?”

“We’re here because of your invitation back in Val Royeaux…?”

Confusion darkens her face. “You must be mistaken. I have not been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave. Though, now that you say it, I feel strange…” She shakes her head as if clearing it. “Whoever or whatever brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already… pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.”

Silence reigns a moment before chaos breaks out amongst your companions, Cassandra’s voice riding the loudest. “An alliance with Tevinter? Do you not fear _all of Thedas_ turning against you?”

Solas sends her a sharp look before turning to Fiona himself. “I understand that you are afraid, but you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter.”

Fiona is frowning and you can see the regret hidden in her eyes, but she stands firm. “As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

Can none of this damned-to-Fen’harel _nonsense_ be easy, just once? Your frustration leeches into your voice as your control finally snaps. “What about the _giant hole_ in the veil that’s spewing demons everywhere? You’re just going to, what, pretend it isn’t there?” Bull lets out a cough-disguised chuckle at your rather disgusted tone.

“I am not forgetting the Breach, but we can only fight one war at a time! The Templar threat was immediate - if we live, we can worry about the torn veil.”

You _took care of that_ , dammit! “The Templars -” The door slamming open interrupts you, making everyone jump and turn, hands on weapons.

It’s a human, and the armor he and his men sport identify them as Imperium. Likely, this is the Magister - he studies all of you, but seems unafraid as he strides forward, his arms open wide. “Welcome, my friends! I apologize for not greeting you earlier.” 

He comes to a stop between you and the mages, and Fiona bows slightly towards him. “Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.”

He doesn’t seem to notice her. “The southern mages are under my command. But you are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade? Interesting…” He studies you intently, his eyes snagging on your ears before roaming slowly over you. He’s not being threatening, but his gaze is making your skin crawl and your hand itch for the weight of your staff. 

You force your tone to politeness. “If you’re leading _Fiona’s_ -” you try not to stress the name too clearly, though the glittering smirk tells you he noticed the distinction “- mages now, then perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

“It is always a pleasure to meet a _reasonable_ woman…” He takes a seat, gesturing for you to join him. “Felix, would you send for a scribe please? Ah, pardon my manners. My son Felix, friends.” Felix bows and walks away before Alexius continues. “I am not surprised you are here. Containing the Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt. There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor - ambitious indeed.”

Your gut was screaming at you that something was off, but as of yet everyone had been seemingly non-threatening and open to negotiation. “Does that mean you’ll lend your support to our cause?”

“There will have to be- “ The approach of Felix cuts Alexius off, It’s clear from the way the man is staggering that something is wrong - you move to catch him as his knees buckle, his heavier human form barely braced by your own. You help ease him to the ground as the magister jumps up, but freeze as you feel a folded note pressed into your hand, closing over it to hide it away automatically. 

“My lord, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Are you all right?” If anything, the magister obviously loves his son. 

“I’m fine, father. I apologize.” He turns to meet your eyes as he slowly continues. “I did not mean to cause any trouble.”

“Of course. Come, I’ll get your powders. Please excuse me, friends. We will have to continue this another time. I shall send word to the Inquisition, we will conclude this business at a later date - Fiona, I require your assistance at the castle.” Gathering his son, he and his entourage scurry away.

“Interesting, that.” Bull’s voice is nonchalant as he steps closer, his body hiding yours from prying eyes as you lower your gaze to the note in your hand. Carefully, you unfold it.

_Come to the Chantry. You are in danger._

Of course you were, _that_ was nothing new. You sigh. “It’s worth investigating. If he cared enough to warn us against his father… we should go.”

“It could be a trap.” Still not looking at you, Bull’s voice is low enough that even you, standing beside him, can barely hear. 

You agree, but there’s simply no other way - there was too much riding on this not to be certain, and far too many unanswered questions. “We’ll be careful, but we need to figure out what’s going on here.”

~~~

You enter the Chantry hall to the sounds of battle, Bull pulling you back from the swipe of a demon a bit too close to the door for comfort. Felix is absent - instead, there’s a strange man, a mage, taking down the creatures from the rift with his staff.

You can’t deny he’s handsome, in a very... _shem_ sort of way - the pomp and glitter of nobility, no hair out of place, his mustache carefully groomed, a well-practiced carelessly-amused expression on his face, wearing robes that, if sold, could possibly feed a small city for a few days. Seemingly, the kind of man Sera would eat for breakfast. He blasts the one who’d almost swiped you - the last of this round from the rift - before turning your way. “Good, you’re finally here! Now help me close this, would you?”

Well, he obviously knows who you are. With the demons dispatched, sealing the rift is as easy as a thought. The man strides towards you, Bull keeping you close as he does. “Fascinating. How _does_ that work, exactly?” Before you can even attempt an answer, he laughs. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom! Rift closes.”

“Another Tevinter. Be cautious with this one. Who are you?” Cassandra’s voice is mild, but clearly threatening. 

“Ah, getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

You can feel Bull’s massive chest vibrate as he growls. “Watch yourself. The pretty ones are always the worst.”

Dorian winks at you roguishly, as if including you in a big secret. “Suspicious friends you have here. Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable - as I’m _sure_ you can imagine.”

You shrug out of Bull’s grip - you sense no intent of danger from this man, even though he _is_ Tevinter, and you refuse to seem afraid before him. “You’re betraying your mentor because…?”

He lifts his finger with a smile. “Alexius _was_ my mentor. Meaning he’s not any longer, not for some time.” The humor drains from his face as his hand lowers, his voice dropping down. “Look, you must know there is danger, even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by _magic_ , yes? Which is _exactly right_. To reach Redcliffe before the inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

That’s… not what you were expecting. Mind control from blood magic, sure, but _time distortion_? “Please tell me that’s less dangerous than it sounds.”

“More.” Dorian’s voice is grim.

Solas is intrigued, faced with a magic he’s not familiar with. “That is fascinating if true… and almost _certainly_ dangerous.”

“The rift you closed here, you saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down. Soon, there will be more like it… and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unravelling the world. I know what I’m talking about, I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory - we could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is _why_ he’s doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“He didn’t do it for them.” All of you whip around to face the newcomer, stopping when you see Felix, looking nowhere near as ill as he had when he’d tumbled into you.

Dorian breaks out in a wide grin. “Took you long enough! Is he getting suspicious?”

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” Felix shakes his head and turns to you. “My father’s joined a cult, Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves ‘Ventatori,’ and I can tell you one thing - whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to _you_.”

Of course he has. Well, he’d have to get in line then. “Do you have any suggestions?”

Dorian is the one who responds. “You know you’re his target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage. I can’t stay in Redcliffe - Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I’d prefer to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.” He starts to stalk away, but turns back around with that practiced carefree grin. “Oh, and Felix? _Do_ try not to get yourself killed.” 

Felix’s eyes are on the mage’s back. “There are worse things than dying, Dorian.”

~~~

Returning to Haven is delightfully unremarkable, though once you arrive you whisk Cassandra and the advisors back to the war room before taking the time to change from travel gear.

You can _feel_ the anger rise around the room as your report comes to a close, _no one_ is happy with the way things have changed. Ideas on how to handle the threat and bring on the mages are thrown around, Cassandra, of course, being the first to suggest storming the castle head on. You’re in support of taking your changes, confident in your companions their ability to stand against any trap the Magister poses, while Josephine is suggesting an approach similar to that in Therinfal. 

It’s devolving back into an argument when Cullen finally slams a hand down on the war table in frustration. “We don’t have the manpower to take the castle or the time to raise another noble assault. Either we find another way in or we give up this foolish plan and take our chances with only the Templars. Alexius knew the Herald of Andraste by name, it’s an _obvious_ trap!”

Cassandra is _firmly_ against this. “Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister - this cannot be allowed to stand!”

Cullen meets your eyes, and you can see his turmoil. “Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled _thousands_ of assaults. If you go in there you’ll _die_ \- I won’t _allow_ it.”

You can’t quite decide if the flush on your cheekbones is because you’re angry he thinks you’re so easily overcome and ordered around or because he’s still so adamant to keep you safe, though you’re leaning quickly towards anger. You’re not all that fragile and not his to order around, and he needs to remember that - but Cassandra isn’t done, and addresses him before you can. “And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep.”

Josephine attempts to find a middle ground. “Even if we could assault, it would be for naught. An Orlesian Inquisition's army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

“The Magister -”

Cullen interrupts her smoothly. “- has _outplayed_ us.”

No - you were raised on tales of your people being forced to submit to Tevinter, and this feels far too similar. “We can’t just give up.” You catch Cullen’s gaze with your own, _willing_ him to understand. “There has to be something we can do. There’s got to be another way into the castle - a sewer, a water gate, _something_.”

“...Wait.” Leliana, until now remaining silent, seems caught at the edge of a memory. “There _is_ a secret passage into the castle, an escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

“Too risky…” but Cullen no longer sounds outright dismissive, more pensive as he thinks it through. “Those agents would be discovered well before they reach the Magister.”

“That’s why we need a distraction. Perhaps the envoy Alexius is sending for?” She tilts her head towards you in acknowledgement. “Focus their attention on Lavellan while we take out the Magister’s defenses.”

Cassandra nods slowly. “It’s risky, but it could work.”

The door slams open, Dorian marching in, speaking as if he were expected. “Fortunately you’ll have help.” As he gets to the table he bows expansively, ignoring the frowns of the advisors as he tilts his head to wink up at you.

A haggard guard follows behind him. “This man says he has information about the Magister and his methods, Commander.”

Cullen’s eyes rake over the mage, and it’s obvious he’s unimpressed. Dorian turns his grin to the Commander, speaking before Cullen can put a voice to his outrage. “Your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help. So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.” His posture takes in the entire table, but it’s _obvious_ his words are directed at you.

Cullen sighs, running his hand through his hair, turning back towards you. “This plan puts _you_ in the most danger. We can’t ask you to do this. We _have_ the Templars - you have no need to play the bait. But… it’s up to you.” It’s clear by the look on his face what he wishes your response to be, but by the defeated slump of his shoulders that he also suspects what you’ll say and is preparing himself for it. And he’s right - you can’t let this stand. You give him a sad smile as you nod, and he nods back, before stiffening and redonning the mantle of Commander, bending to confer with Leliana and Josephine about the plan moving forward. 

~~~

The summons from Alexius finally arrives, and he wishes for you to come alone to the castle. That absolutely _won’t_ happen - you weren’t that foolish, and even if you were Cullen would go into apoplexy if he thought you were even _considering_ such a risk. Instead, you choose Solas and Bull to accompany you, along with Dorian - the Magister had met the two of them, and would consider them less of a threat. 

Given the threat, you would be heading to Redcliffe with a far larger force than you usually travelled with. Leliana and her agents left first, to sneak into Redcliffe without causing alarm and prepare to enter the tunnel when you arrived. Cullen and a few of his most trusted Templars - Ser Barris among them - would dress as simple soldiers and station themselves both around town and in a camp far enough away as to not draw attention. You’re against this plan - the two of them were far more important to the Inquisition than they seemed to realize, but given that this threat came from the Imperium you understood their need to make sure it was handled. 

Though, as you traveled, you were _glad_ that Varric had stayed behind - you could hear his teasing laughter from here. Given that Leliana had gone ahead… you found yourself the lone woman in a group of rather _attractive_ men. You had no fear of them, obviously - Bull had already shown that he could be trusted with your - ah - _virtue_ , as it were, and both Cullen and Solas would rip apart any who glanced your way sideways. You weren’t certain, but you were suspected that they alternated watches outside your tent as you slept. It was infuriating, it was endearing… and both hid any definitive _proof_ with a skill the Spymaster would envy.

The true light of the journey, however, was Dorian. The man was _hysterical_ \- he also had _no_ sense of self-protection as he flirted shamelessly with the Templar soldiers. His flamboyant nature took most of them aback, which he mocked and pursued mercilessly, though he seemed to meet his match in Cullen and Ser Barris. Cullen was beginning to be amused by him (as were you), _especially_ when it was discovered that they had a common love of chess. Barris, however, was _completely_ unfazed. As a second son, he’d grown up around nobility more than many of the other soldiers - he wasn’t amused, but he wasn’t riled either, a fact that caused Dorian to focus his gaze on the knight _if only_ to finally break a response from him. Sera would still probably eat him, but if the two of them ever worked _together_ … the thought alone was terrifying. 

Despite Dorian’s best efforts, the mood drops the nearer to Redcliffe you come. By the time you reach the designated camping area, everyone is grim, setting out to their various posts and tasks with little conversation. You gather your weapons and the three men joining you, Cullen seeing the four of you off. Before you leave, Cullen reaches out to stop you, almost touching your shoulder before jerking back. You look up at him in surprise, the others far enough away to give you a moment to yourselves but waiting for you to join them. 

He seems to notice this as well, his ears turning red as he rubs the back of his neck, not meeting your eyes. “I just… ah. I know you can handle yourself, have no doubt you will be successful. I just wanted to… to wish you luck.”

You can’t stop yourself - you’re about to knowingly walk into an Imperium trap, you need to see that beautiful blush just once more. “Traditionally, with my people, luck is given with a kiss.”

He blinks at you in shock for a moment, frozen as if he’s trying to decide if he should run… or call your bluff and _offer_ some luck. You let him off the hook with a smile and he sheepishly grins back. You catch one final whisper as you walk away. “Stay safe, Herald.” As you leave the camp with Bull, Solas, and Dorian, you feel his heavy, worried gaze on your back.

Solas and Bull say nothing, but Dorian swings an arm over your shoulders before splitting off to wrap his magic around himself and leave to give the signal to Leliana. “Seems like I’m not the only one with a soft spot for strapping young Templars,” he murmurs, winking at you before slipping away, leaving you with a brilliant scarlet flush of your own.

~~~

You enter the castle uncontested, but as you reach the great hall you are stopped by a line of soldiers. You look towards the steward standing nearby, your tone brooking no argument. “Announce us.”

“Forgive me, but the invitation was for Mistress Lavellan alone. The others will have to remain here.” 

You cock an eyebrow up, unconcerned as he stared down his nose at you. “Where I go, they go.” You shrug and smile, looking comfortable enough to stand there for hours. This irritating shemlen barely ranks, and if he thinks he’ll browbeat you into submission by staring you down, well… he’d never attempted to stand off against Josephine or Leliana when they’d decided you _would_ do something whether you wished it or not. 

Finally, the steward shakes his head in defeat, motioning the soldiers to let you pass and announcing you to the Magister, currently seated on the throne like he belonged there, Felix standing behind him.

The Magister stands, smiling magnanimously down at you. “My friend! It’s so good to see you again! And your… _associates_ , of course. I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”

The way he easily throws the word ‘friend’ around is disconcerting, you have to admit. There’s no point to question it, however. He’s faced instead with Fiona, striding forward with concern and anger across her face. “Are we mages not to have a voice concerning our own fate?”

“Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives.”

Oh yes, because asking for protection and following without question into whatever is decided is definitely the same thing. “If the Grand Enchanter wishes to be a part of our talks, I would welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition.”

Alexius ignores you, slowly sitting back on his throne, his smile gone. “The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So - what shall you offer in exchange?”

Here goes, Josie’s idea to offer one last chance for peace. “The Inquisition has many backers among the Orlesian nobility. I’m sure we can find suitable compensation.”

He smirks. “I’m not sure what the _Orlesian nobility_ has to offer that I do not already possess.”

Felix, it seems, has had enough of the facade. “Enough. She knows everything, father.”

Alexius slowly turns his head to his son. “Felix… what have you done?”

“Your son is concerned that you’re involved in something terrible -”

“So speaks the _thief_.” Alexius hisses back at you. “Do you think you can turn my son against me?”

Thief? You’ve never met this man before, never set foot in Tevinter. This Imperium _bullshit_ of mistaking elves for each other… but he’s not finished yet. He stands, his face darkened in rage. “You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark - a gift you don’t even understand - and think you’re in control? You’re nothing but a _mistake_.”

Oh _by all the Creators_. “If you know so much, enlighten me. What do _you_ know of the mark?” You can’t keep the sneer from your voice.

“It belongs to your betters, you wouldn’t even begin to understand its purpose. You stumbled into the Elder One’s moment, unworthy to even stand in his presence.”

You stop at the name of the Elder One, caught back in the nightmare with Envy. “ _That’s_ who you serve? The one who murdered the Divine, who consorts with demons?”

“Soon, he will become a _god_.” The look on Alexius’s face is pure fanatical devotion. “He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas!”

“Father, _listen_ to yourself! Do you even know what you sound like?”

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliche everyone expects us to be.” Dorian has arrived, meaning that Leliana and her agents are sweeping through the guards as you speak. He releases his magic and uncloaks, striding forward to stand beside you. “Alexius - this is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen. Why would you support this?”

“Dorian…” Alexius’s eyes narrow. “I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

“Stop it Father. Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the breach and let’s go _home_.”

“No! Don’t you see? It’s the only way, Felix - he can _save_ you!” 

This pronouncement has the room ringing in shocked silence, before Felix stumbles away from him in horror. “ _Save_ me? Is that what this is about?”

“There _is_ a way! The Elder One promised, if I undo the mistake at the temple -”

“I’m _going to die_ , Father. You need to accept that.”

Despite yourself, your heart hurts for the men before you. Still, the Magister was defying what could not be undone and harming others in his grief… and you were the ‘mistake’ he was supposed to ‘fix.’ It didn’t matter - Alexius was beyond listening. “Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One demands this elf’s life!”

You reach for your staff, but the sounds of bodies falling announces Leliana’s arrival to the great hall. “Your men are dead, Alexius. Enough of this.”

Spittle flies from his lips as he rages at you. “You are a _mistake_! You never should have existed!” He rips an amulet from his neck and lifts it, magic pouring through his fingers as he begins a spell, but Dorian screams out in defiance and casts a bolt towards it at the same time. Whatever spell he was attempting goes awry, hitting the ground before you before turning into a twisted, rippling portal and dragging you down into darkness.

~~~

Portal travel is _easily_ your least favorite way to go, the magic ripping through you and leaving you feeling as if you’d been turned partially inside out before dropping you into a partially flooded storeroom. A splash beside you and an accompanying grunt tells you Dorian was taken as well, a fact you’re grateful for as he grips your arms and hauls you up in the water - standing, it comes up to his waist, while you’re sloshing through it almost to your shoulders. The water is murky, filled with debris, and you clamp down on the nausea with sheer force of will - you will _not_ swim through sickness on top of whatever else is in here. It fades after a moment, and the two of you wade forwards to slightly less sodden ground. 

Your arrival has not gone unnoticed, however; two guards storm in. It’s easy to dispatch them - it seems like they have not fought anyone of power in some time - which is fortunate because swimming while casting is _not_ easy. 

Still, it’s over, and you’re able to take stock of the room you find yourself in. The walls are lined with huge outcroppings of red lyrium - never a sign of anything good. You’re in a building of some kind; there are no windows, just cobblestone walls. 

You turn to the sound of Dorian musing to himself. “Displacement… Interesting. It’s probably not what Alexius intended - the rift must have moved us… to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?” 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Talking to yourself, I see?” No, it’s clear that the spell Dorian threw severely altered whatever the Magister had intended, but that was still barely an answer. “Last I remember we were in the castle hall…” you trail off with a shrug, but it seems to spark something for the human.

“If we’re in the castle, then - of course! It’s not simply where, it’s _when_! The spell disrupted the focus - it moved us through time!”

“Did we go forward in time, or back, and how far?”

Dorian’s now-familiar amused grin lights up his face as he gestures with his staff. “Those are _excellent_ questions! We’ll have to find out, won’t we?” He fades down into grimness. “Let’s take a look around, see where the rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back - if we can.” 

You agree, but given that Dorian is more familiar with the Magister and the name has come up yet again, you have to ask first. “Alexius mentioned the Elder One - do you know who he is?”

Dorian scoffs. “Leader of the Venatori, I suspect. Some magister with aspirations of godhood. It’s the same old tune - ‘Let’s play with some magic we don’t understand, it’ll make us incredibly powerful!’ Evidently doesn’t matter if you rip apart the fabric of time in the process, of course.” He laughs as he pats you on the shoulder, causing you to roll your eyes. “Don’t you fret, I am here, and I’ll protect you!”

The patches of red lyrium seem to be everywhere, growing haphazardly out of various surfaces, the flickering red glow helping to guide you forward. You’re in what appears to be the dungeon - barred cells line the halls, some filled with grisly remains while others hold still more of the ghastly red stone. The few living prisoners seem to be in almost worse shape than the corpses, humming the Chant, crying out prayers, or screaming for the Maker, their minds obviously shattered by whatever has happened here. After a few failed attempts at conversation, the two of you push on without attempting further, the terrified cries chasing after you.

You come to one cell and give the prisoner a cursory glance, and stop with a gasp when you recognize the face within. “Fiona?” You rush to open the gate, but recoil when you see what lies within. There… is no helping her. The lyrium seems to be growing _on_ her, encasing her body, freezing her into an unnatural position. She is far beyond the ability to move, her breath coming in gasps from the weight of the stone crushing over her shoulders. 

She looks up at you in horror from where she is leaning partially against the wall, the only position of rest left to her. “You’re… alive? How? I saw you disappear into the rift…” 

“Fiona…. Is that lyrium growing from your _body_?”

“The longer you’re around it… you become this. Then they mine your corpse for more.”

No… _Creators above_ , no. You glance around wildly, the once-haphazard patches taking on a horrifying new meaning. Lying against the wall, dripping from the ceiling, pooled out as if from here a body would lie...

Dorian grips your arm, interrupting your mounting panic. “Can you tell us the year? It’s very important!”

Fiona answers in a pained grunt. “Harvestmere. 942. Dragon.”

“942 - then we’ve missed an entire year!”

You look towards him. “We have to get out of here - go back in time. Stop this from happening.”

Dorian is musing again. “The focus - the amulet that Alexius used to cast. If it still exists, I can use it to open the rift at the exact spot we left. Maybe. But then… it may also turn us into paste.” He shrugs helplessly back at you.

“You must _try_!” Fiona cries out. “Your spymaster, Leliana, She is here. Find her. Quickly. Alexius serves the Elder One, more powerful than the Maker. No one challenges him and lives! You must go before he learns you’re here!”

You want to comfort the woman, but have no idea how. Your words seem paltry as you try. “I promise - I will do everything in my power to set things right.” You back away from the cell door, unable to help, guilt suffusing through you at having to leave her here. But if both Fiona and Leliana are in this place… Solas and Iron Bull. The others. Oh _Maker_.

Dorian keeps up a steady chatter once out of the way of Fiona’s cell, as if the noise would keep the nightmare at bay - one thing you are rapidly learning about him is that he can’t handle silence. You allow it, his theories and occasional quips helping you keep a handle on your own fear. However, you can tell when it hits him, what occured to you before. He immediately stops and looks around warily a moment before turning to you. “This makes no sense. If red lyrium is an infection, why is it growing out of the walls?”

You slow to a stop as well, giving him a very still, blank look, knowing that he was missing the answer right before him in a desperate attempt to deny the insanity. “Are you sure you want the answer to that, Dorian?”

After a long moment of facing off with each other in silence, his eyes shutter closed and his voice deadens. “Ah. I suppose I don’t, at that.” You both continue a moment before his constant prattle eases back in, fighting back against the oppressive darkness in his own way.

~~~

You know him immediately, his lithe form facing away from the bars of his cell. You stop a moment, frantically trying to gather your courage, praying to anyone that will listen that he is free from the fate that currently awaits Fiona. Dorian stops beside you, following your gaze, his mostly one-sided conversation fading away into a whispered “ _ah_ ,” as he sees what’s before you. You turn desperate eyes up at him - unsure of how to proceed, but knowing that any amused or sarcasm-laced barbs would break you. He stares back, his face carefully devoid of any of his usual humor. You take a moment before starting forward, reaching to unlock the cage, your heart in your throat. Solas whips around when he hears your approach - his eyes burning in the torchlight, burning a deep red, the color of blood… the color of _lyrium_. 

He staggers back in shock when he sees you, as if hit, his voice coming out in a whisper you’re not sure he intended to speak aloud. “You’re alive…” He reaches up almost as if to caress your cheek before shaking his head vehemently. “We saw you die!”

Dorian saves you from having to answer, his demeanor still clad in that carefully-formed stillness. “The spell Alexius used displaced us in time. We just got here, so to speak.”

Solas nods, hearing the mage, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly approaches, his voice back to a mere whisper. “Can you reverse the process? You can return and obviate the events of the last year!” He rips his gaze from yours and turns his intensity on Dorian. “It may not be too late!” His eyes return to you, his expression once again softening. “Lethallan…”

You swallow hard. The hint of red is flaring across his skin as he moves, the buds of tiny crystal showing the damage done. “You look… Is there... anything I can do to help?”

He smiles, shaking his head slowly. “I am dying, but no matter. If you can undo this we can all be saved. But you know nothing of this world… It is far worse than you understand. The Elder One... He reigns now unchallenged. His minions assassinated Empress Celene, and he used the chaos to invade the south, commanding an army of demons. After you stop Alexius you _must_ be prepared.”

The room is spinning slightly, the air sucked from you at the casual way he has accepted his own death. “We can’t do this without you, Solas. Can you… are you up to this?”

“This world is an abomination, it must never come to pass. I would follow you unto death, lethallan.” He stalks out of his cell with his usual grace, pausing as he passes you to take you in once more before continuing down the hall opposite of where you entered. 

~~~

You hear Bull’s voice long before you see him. He’s singing some strange ditty about beer on the wall, and from his tired droning it seems he’s been going a while. You’re expecting the worst when he turns around, but he seems to be in much the same condition as Solas, if decorated with several new scars. 

His song cuts off abruptly when he sees you. “You’re not dead! You’re supposed to be dead. There was a burn on the ground and everything!” When the door opens he strides forward, going to hug you, before catching sight of his own red-tinted hands and dropping his arms. “It’s good to see you, Boss,” he finishes weakly instead. 

Dorian takes in your expression, his thoughts not showing on his face, before turning to glare up at Bull. “The spell didn’t kill us, just sent us through time. _This_ is our future.”

Bull crosses his arms. “Well, it’s _my_ present, and in my _past_ I definitely saw you both die.”

“Are you… ok, Bull?” You ask quietly, drawing his attention back down to you before Dorian can find a snarky enough reply. 

Bull laughs. “Horns up, boss. Always horns up. Killing Alexius sounds good - let’s go.” He walks past Dorian, stopping to snap his teeth at the mage, laughing as the human jerks back in horrified disgust. Dorian mutters something about “moronic,” and “insane,” looking at you and gesturing towards the broad back of Bull as if to say “really?” He pauses at your expression though. 

You’re still at the entrance to the cell, watching Solas and Bull as they confer, catching up on what they’d heard from the guards passing as to the potential whereabouts of Leliana. Everything in this horrific place, this potential future, is dying - the flickering red still filling the halls as if standing testament to your failure and the end of the world. Slowly, you place one foot in front of the other, following because you don’t know what else to do.

Dorian matches his pace to yours, studiously looking anywhere but you. “Not worried or anything, obviously, just wanted to make sure my time-travelling companion is holding up well.”

You blink in surprise - it’s an incredibly astute observation from him. “I…” your gaze returns to the men ahead of you. “I’m doing as well as I can, given the circumstances.”

“Good!” That cocky grin flashes down at you. “It’s purely selfish, I assure you - if you’re not up to par how can I trust anyone to guard my admittedly glorious backside?” He looks positively offended at the thought of harm and his _glorious backside_ , and you bark a laugh despite yourself. 

“Don’t you fret, Dorian. You and your _backside_ are in good hands.”

“Oh, _perish_ the thought.” he says mockingly, winking at you. His voice lowers conspiratorially. “Though, I know it’s not _my_ backside you’re terribly worried about protecting, my dear. I must admit I’m impressed - Templar _and_ mage? Ambitious. And _Qunari_? Really?”

You can’t fight the blush. “Is this _really_ the time for this conversation, Dorian?” Your voice comes out as a hissed whisper as you look up again to see if he was overheard. It seems almost… _sacrilegious_ , speaking of that in this place of death. 

He chuckles, gesturing around you. “ _Technically_ we’re in a future that never comes to pass, remember, which means _this_ conversation will never happen. What better time for it to occur?”

You know what he’s trying to do… and Maker help you, you let him. Some of the tension seeps out of your shoulders as you get caught up in his game. “Not that you have _any_ room to talk. Between Ser Barris and the Templars that traveled with us, I’d think you’d have your plate full.”

You catch the glint in his eye over the mention of Barris - that poor man had no idea what awaited him when the two of you returned to where you belonged. Still… you sigh. “Fine, if you must know. There’s little there to speak of. Beyond the duty before us… They will have lives to return to, and I doubt will wish to drag me behind - even if they _could_ put their differences aside as far as each other are concerned.”

Dorian laughs uproariously, lowering his voice once more after Bull glances around in suspicion. “I’m not talking about _forever_ , girl! Your Templar, _maybe_ , because if you honestly believe he wouldn’t follow you around like a lost mabari you’re even more innocent than _he_ is, but _really_.”

You splutter a bit at that, but don’t really know how to respond. “I _did_ kiss Bull…” you mutter halfheartedly in your own defense. “Though… Dragon Piss was involved, so I’m not sure if that counts.”

Dorian gapes at you long enough that you begin to worry you broke the man before shaking his head at you. He lightly pushes you forward, and you find yourself stumbling ahead, gaining back your ground and coming up behind Solas and Bull. The conversation is over, and you’re both still here… but your fear is back under control, the desperation that had been crawling up your throat manageable once more. 

~~~

There - the voice you’re looking for.

“I would _die_ first!”

“How did the elf know about the sacrifice at the temple? Answer!”

“Never!” Leliana’s voice echoes out, filled with defiance, before screaming out in pain. 

“You will break!”

_Enough_. Cold rage whips through you, wiping away the last of your trepidation. You push angrily through the door to see a human man pushing a knife against her throat. Your entrance causes him to whip around, distracting him enough for her to make her move and she does - drawing her legs up to wrap around his neck, snapping it with a firm twist.

She looks… closer to corpse than to the collected woman you’re familiar with. Her face is a myriad of scars from a year spent in the clutches of the Elder One. Her skin is parchment-thin, starvation melding her flesh to her bones in skeletal mimicry. You hurry to free her, Bull close behind to help lower her to her feet. “Leliana… you’re safe now.”

Her answering laugh is harsh. “Forget ‘safe.’ If you came back from the dead you need to do better than ‘safe.’ You need to _end this_ , Herald. Come. Alexius should be in his throne room.”

She stops to quickly break open a weapons chest, girding herself and the two who had been imprisoned here with her. She seems to know exactly where to go, and you follow her through the maze-like passages. It’s not until you reach a courtyard that you stop, the sight of the sky truly bringing home the devastation this world had faced. The Breach fully covers the sky, a swirling vortex of destruction. Rifts are spawned as far as the eye can see, down into the town of Redcliffe and beyond. It’s clear from here that there’s _nothing_ left - nothing but destruction and death.

Enough of this. Alexius must pay.

~~~

Alexius is facing away from you as you enter, seeming not to heed your approach. A man you don’t recognize is kneeling next to him, unresponsive, as still as a corpse beyond the faintest of breathing. 

“It’s _over_ , Alexius. Look at what you’ve done, all of this. How could you do this?”

He shakes his head slowly, not turning towards you. “For my country, for my son… but it means nothing now. I knew you would appear again - not that it would be now, but that I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure.”

Dorian is beside you, the pain in his face clear - he had once loved his mentor dearly. “Was it worth it? Everything you did to the world? To yourself?”

“It doesn’t matter now. All we can do is wait for the end.” Alexius scoffs. “The irony that you should appear _now_ of all the possibilities. All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? Ruin and destruction - that is all that remains for us all.”

Leliana prowls forward, gripping the unknown man by the back of his cloak and hauling him up, her knife to his throat. Alexius cries out in alarm, but the man remains blank, his head lolling to the side in her grasp. “Felix!”

Dorian’s cry echoes his. “ _That’s_ Felix? Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done?” 

He may have once been Felix, but he was no longer. The once handsome man was a shell of himself, as bald as an infant, his skin slack and waxen.

“He would have died, Dorian! I _saved_ him! Please, do not harm him - I will do anything you want.”

Leliana responds before you can. “I want the world back.” Her dagger slices cleanly through his neck and he drops lifelessly to the ground as Alexius’s cry of rage echoes across the hall.

He summons forth demons, making the fight considerably less one-sided. You fight back-to-back with Dorian, the other three circling the room and keeping the demons at bay. When it comes to Alexius himself, you allow Dorian to take the offensive, instead draining the magic from the field as Alexius casts, sensing Dorian’s need to be the one to finish this between them. Eventually, the man goes down, sprawling across from his son.

Silence echoes for a moment, as Dorian sadly gazes over the bodies of his former mentor and friend. He kneels down beside Alexius, and you quietly kneel across from him, wordlessly offering your support. After a moment, his dark eyes meet yours. “He wanted to die, didn’t he? All the lies he told himself, the justifications… He lost Felix long ago, and didn’t even notice. Oh Alexius…”

“I know you cared for him.”

“Once he was a man to whom I compared all others. Sad, isn’t it?” He shakes his head before gathering the amulet from around Alexius’s neck. “Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and we will return through the rift.”

Leliana surges forward. “An hour?! That’s impossible, you must go _now_!” A roar shakes the castle walls, and all of you freeze. “The Elder One.”

“Lethallan, you _cannot_ stay here!” Solas turns a grim expression to Bull, and Bull nods in return. Solas turns back to you, but addresses Leliana. “We will hold the outer door. When they get past us... it will be your turn.”

“What? No! I can’t let you do this! Surely there’s another way!” 

Solas lifts his hand, his fingertips barely an inch from your face as he traces the shape of your cheek, the red glow reminding you to keep your distance. “We are _already dead_. The only way we will live is if _this_ day never comes. _Be strong_.” He strides out the door beside Bull, neither of them looking back. 

Dorian shoots you a worried look, pulling you back towards him before focusing down on the amulet, his magic starting to spark. Your gaze catches on Leliana as she moves towards the quickly closing door. “Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.” 

The battle sounds are horrific, made worse because you can help neither your friends nor Dorian - all you can do is _wait_. You can’t see what’s happening beyond the door, but your mind offers suggestions in graphic detail.

There is a final crash as the demons rend through the door, Leliana smoothly drawing to her ear, the Chant of Light flowing out of her.

“Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame.”

An arrow finds its mark as the door bursts open, demons marching forward. The crumpled remainder of Solas’s body is tossed to the side as they enter. 

“Andraste, guide me.”

Three more arrows fly true before they have crossed the distance to her and she drops her bow in favor of her blades.

“Maker, take me to your side.”

She takes out more, though it’s clear that the battle is hopeless. For every one that falls, three more step forward. 

It’s too much, you have to help - but Dorian grips your arm hard, shouting over the sounds of death. “You move and we _all_ die!” Helplessly you watch as she slowly loses the upper hand, as she screams when they swarm over her. Dorian drags you backwards into the wavering portal, and the magic tears through you both.

~~~

You turn, and there is Alexius, backing up in shock as the two of you step out of the portal, seemingly to walk through his cast as not even seconds have passed. “You’ll have to do better than that.” Dorian’s voice is cool and dripping with sarcasm, but you can hear the fury hiding underneath it; he too was affected by the nightmare you’d left behind.

The fight drains from Alexius as if it never existed and he sinks to his knees. You shake your head in disgust, but can’t bring yourself to harm him - enough blood has been spilled at his expense. “Give up your claim to Redcliffe, and we’ll let you live.” Dorian raises an eyebrow at you, but nods his approval.

“You’ve won. Let’s not continue this charade.”

Felix, so much more _vibrant_ than the shell in the future realm, kneels down, placing a hand on the Magister’s shoulder. “It’s going to be alright, Father.”

“You’ll die!”

“Everyone dies.” Felix responds softly, as the guards help Alexius stand and lead him away.

There’s a moment of silence - you can see the somewhat confused expression of the people around you as they try to determine exactly what happened, the two of you looking like you’d been through a war even though nothing _had_ happened. Dorian turns to you, unable to bear it any longer. “Well then! That was fun, wasn’t it? Rather bracing, I’d say, especially that bit with the demons. Could even go a second turn if I had to - _not_ that I’m volunteering, mind.”

You can’t help it, you begin to snicker, devolving into a full-blown laugh as you sink to the ground, Dorian kneeling beside you hopelessly caught in laughter himself. Tears stream down your cheeks, blurring the line enough that you’re no longer sure if laugher or sobs are what’s bubbling out of you.

~~~

The rest becomes a bit of a blur. Bull half-carries you and Dorian out, calling for healers. You’re asleep quickly, some potion pushed down your throat for the mages to do their work. During the time, the King and Queen of Ferelden even make an appearance - apparently they’d heard what happened and were _displeased_ with Fiona and her people, to put it mildly - not that you were upset to miss that in _any_ way - your humans were fine, but the longer you could avoid someone with _that_ much power in the shemlen world, the better. Leliana and Cullen extend the Inquisition’s offer for shelter, if the mages are willing to set their differences aside and work with the Templars to heal the Breach, and Fiona easily agrees. 

You and Dorian have your own agreement - you will not reveal the details of what you saw in the future vision, merely the pertinent facts. The Elder One and his demons, the assassination of Empress Celene… the rest of the nightmare was not for them to face. Still, you suspect _something_ is amiss with the dark-haired mage’s fingerprints all over it as you’re continuously fussed over by Cullen and Bull despite your _continued_ assurances that you’re completely fine and they’re worse than mother hens. Not that you’re worried - when you get a free moment, you pull Barris aside, mentioning that you’d like him to keep a _personal_ eye out for Dorian given his… _uncertain_ background, _quietly_ of course. 

Still, when you finally return to Haven, there are some things to address. You’ve done more than anyone has imagined possible - the Templars and mages are working together under the Inquisition’s banner, you have a lead into the murder of the Divine… though this Elder One keeps cropping up, pulling the strings around you. Now that you’ve reached the last portion of the main plan - addressing the Breach - the bickering has resumed around the war table about how to approach the issue of the Elder One. 

Finally, you have to shut them down. It’s completely irrelevant until the Breach is closed anyway, and you’re _far_ too exhausted from your last few ordeals to put up with it. 

Slow clapping behind you startles everyone, and you turn to see Dorian leaning in the doorway. “Finally, the voice of pragmatism speaks! And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments. Honestly it all sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do. Orlais falls, the Imperium rises, chaos for everyone! Anyway, that’s enough war council for me - though I would like to see the Breach up close if you don’t mind.”

A grin lights up your face as the one pressing question you have is answered. “Then you’re staying?”

The rest of the council seems less than thrilled with the idea, but you’re positively beaming. Dorian laughs. “Oh, didn’t I mention? The south is so charming and rustic, I adore it to little pieces.”

You roll your eyes at him, knowing that _the south_ was just a part of why he had decided to stay. “Well, there’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future or present. Welcome to the Inquisition, Dorian.”

“Excellent choice! But let’s not get ‘stranded’ again any time soon, yes?”

You’re able to leave the planning in the capable hands of Cassandra and the advisors, walking back to your cabin with the first spark of hope in your heart since this entire ordeal began. You’d survived, you’d helped bring peace to Thedas, you’d met some _incredible_ people… for the first time, you began to feel like this entire thing might just be _possible_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it’s not obvious yet, sometimes my ships are… _well_. But I had to! After your whole - _ahem_ \- scene with Cullen, Dorian makes some remark about strapping young templars and making sure to not stand in front of windows… and this pairing was born. Dorian needs someone who can put up with his airs and jibes and flair, and the second son of House Barris can do just that.
> 
> Tune in soon, lovelies!


End file.
